


Soulmates, Ink.

by EffortlesslyOpulent



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Doctor Clarke Griffin, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Mostly Fluff, Soulmates, Soulmates Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Writer Lexa (The 100), this is as CHEESY AND SAPPY AS IT SEEMS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25976173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EffortlesslyOpulent/pseuds/EffortlesslyOpulent
Summary: (Based on the tumblr prompt)Everyone has a soulmate. Everyone can identify their soulmate by the black, ink-like stain that marks their skin where they first make physical contact with their soulmate. Everyone except Lexa Woods.But that isn't stopping the bold, determined Dr. Clarke Griffin from taking an interest.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin & Lexa, Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 85
Kudos: 856





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This one is a little bit of a departure from most of my other works on here, but it's soft, predictable, fluffy as hell...and I had a nice time writing it :)

There is something about the rhythmic click of the keyboard, in the midst of a sudden stroke of genius, that keeps Alexandria Woods coming back for more. 

There is some intangible satisfaction at seeing the words strung together, letter by letter. The words are feelings, each and every one of them. They are feelings born into existence with only the click of a keyboard to their name. They are the rawest, truest form of self expression, without all the frills of over-indulgence, overexposure. 

She cannot help but  _ feel  _ her words when she types them into existence. 

She cannot help but infuse her own consciousness into them. 

She writes, clacking away at the worn and beaten keyboard until she can longer keep her eyes open. Until she is sure she has conveyed every beat, every breath, every millisecond of her inner thoughts. 

It is then that she finally closes her laptop and closes her eyes, falling asleep on top of the old wooden desk in the corner of her apartment, by the window. 

It is only when the pounding of the rain outside rouses her that she fully wakes up, bleary eyed, with a kink in her neck that could warrant a visit to a physical therapist, that she endeavours to read what she wrote. 

With great apprehension and bated breath, she lifts the lip of the screen, unfolding the laptop slowly. 

The document fills the screen, riddled with old words and feelings that she can no longer parse. There are feelings that are stale, now. There are words that cut a little too deeply, and phrases that don’t even make sense anymore. 

It doesn’t take long for Lexa to scan the page over, like it’s a legally binding document that she will refuse to sign. She hates it. She resents it vehemently. It is no longer an expression of self- it’s a misrepresentation of everything and anything she’s ever believed in. 

It is with gusto and a sneer that she does the most dramatic thing she can think to do. 

She tears the pages in half, and puts them through the virtual paper shredder, and she dances in the little strips that rain down on her.

Or, truth be told, she just puts them on her desktop recycling bin, and calls it a day. 

But the former sounds a lot more interesting, and as a freelance writer, she understands this. 

What she doesn’t understand is how, in the span of six hours, everything she wrote and believed in could turn into  _ that _ . She sometimes swears that she must have a thief, a single dedicated home invader, whose goal in life is simple: Destroy her works while she’s sleeping. Tarnish them and make them unreadable the next morning. 

Another theory? She does it herself. In her sleep. She self-sabotages because she’s afraid of reaching her full potential. 

And then, there’s the realistic “version” (the truth, if you will). 

Lexa will drink or smoke herself into a beautiful stupor, pour her soul and her pain into pages of material. She fancies herself a composer on these nights, scribbling away at the blank sheet music until she’s come away with a symphony fit for a concert hall. 

And then, inevitably, as pesky as sleep is- it will sober her up- not just physically, emotionally, too- and she’s faced with a fifty page script detailing why her life is as messy and unforgiving as it is. 

So she throws it in the “proverbial paper shredder” and makes herself some cheap coffee, and forgets all about it. 

Until nine in the evening, where she will endure the same cycle all over again. 

* * *

It’s Friday afternoon, and Lexa’s run inspires her to go back to her tentative script. 

She barely has time to settle with her old fashioned composition book and her favorite pen before her routine is considerably thrown. 

A knock on the door interrupts Lexa’s character analysis. 

“Lexa?” 

A voice that’s warm and sturdy like Oak. 

It’s Lincoln. 

Lexa sighs and sets her composition book aside, on the coffee table, and rises with a groan. She opens the door, squinting at Lincoln as if she were staring into the sun, and then sighs. 

“Hey, Linc.” 

“Hey yourself.” Lincoln is all smiles, a bag of Indian takeout in his ridiculously toned arms, and Lexa realizes what this is far before Lincoln has attempted to make it known. 

“This is an intervention.” Lexa groans, rubbing her neck apprehensively. 

The man in front of her just  _ radiates  _ love and affection, despite the fact that he looks like a world wrestling champion, and Lexa can’t help but feel a pang of adoration for her best friend. 

Her mind reminds her that he  _ cares _ , and maybe she should be less of an asshole about it. 

“That’s a strong word.” Lincoln chirps. “This is more of a...girl’s night.” He grins, showing off pearly whites. 

“Where are the girls?” Lexa snorts, moving to get a few plates from her kitchen. 

“I’ve been asking you that question since-” Lincoln cuts himself off, because being malicious isn’t his style, even in jest. 

“Since Costia?” Lexa replies with such conviction, that she  _ almost  _ seems over her. 

And she is. 

She’s so far over Costia that she took to throwing her excess crap out of the apartment months ago. 

But she’s not over herself. 

And it seems Lincoln knows that. 

“Yeah.” Lincoln smiles, and sits on the couch, patting the spot beside him. “C’mon, I got your favorites.” 

Lexa can’t help but give him a little smile, coming to sit beside him with a huff as she hands him a plate. 

It’s not until Lincoln is mid bite that he remembers to make conversation. 

“So...How’s Victoria?” Lincoln manages over a mouthful, and Lexa chuckles into her bite. He’s always made a habit of asking about her character’s latest exploits, and Lexa’s always appreciated it. It gives her a chance to see them as living, breathing people. It’s a writer’s dream. 

“She’s...struggling.” Lexa sighs, after a moment. 

“Still?” Lincoln presses. “Because her mark hasn’t developed?” 

“Don’t shrug it off like that, Lincoln. She’s twenty-seven and her soulmate mark hasn’t manifested itself  _ anywhere  _ on her body. She’s afraid.” Lexa suddenly turns defensive, and it’s all Lincoln can do to put his hands up in surrender. 

“Understood. I….” Lincoln rubs his chin thoughtfully. “I just thought, y’know. Maybe...she’d be over it, by now.” 

Lexa stares at him, long and hard, before pushing her plate away. “Well, she isn't.” She mumbles, leaning back into her seat, breathing hard. 

Lincoln takes a moment, chewing on his lip, trying to figure out the proper course of action. 

“They’re supposed to manifest by eighteen, Lincoln.” Lexa whispers, small and terrified, and it’s all Lincoln can do not to interrupt her, to reach out and embrace her. 

“But-” 

“What if it  _ never  _ comes?” Lexa is lost in her own world now, completely and utterly terrified. “What if this is her life? A childhood marked by tragedy...and then no one to be with when she grows up?” 

Lincoln swallows audibly, and he puts his hand on Lexa’s. 

Lexa’s eyes make the mistake of tracing his arm, and they fall upon the stain in his skin, like black ink, tapering off to the side. 

Her stomach churns at the story behind it. 

Octavia Blake. Lincoln’s soulmate. Like a cliche romance. They met at a local protest- when the rowdy crowd and sent Octavia straight into Lincoln, with only a hand on his bicep to steady her. 

When they’d peeled themselves apart, Lincoln was gaping at her ink stained palm, pressed against his bicep, tapering off to the side as she’d removed herself. 

And the rest was history. 

“Fucking  _ bullshit _ .” Lexa wheezes, but Lincoln’s eyes aren’t focused on her, anymore, but her chest. 

Mostly, the awkward way in which it rises and falls. 

“Lexa?” Lincoln’s voice is suddenly suspicious, and Lexa doesn’t like it. “You still smoking?” 

Lexa blinks. “I never smoked.” She brushes him off. 

“Weed is still smoking.” Lincoln argues. 

“Not enough to wheeze like this.” Lexa sighs. 

Alright, so the cat’s out of the bag. She must have asthma or something. 

“This has been going on?” Lincoln is suddenly alarmed. 

“Yeah.” Lexa shrugs, as if it’s nothing. “Especially after my runs.” 

Lincoln’s eyes go wide as he stands up, shaking his head. “Okay, that does it. Get up, we’re going to the E.R.” 

“The E.R?” Lexa laughs humorlessly. “That’s ridiculous. That’s...for emergencies. It’s in the name, Lincoln-” 

Lincoln rolls his eyes. “This  _ is  _ an emergency.” 

“I don’t have health insurance.” Lexa sniffs, as if  _ that’s  _ somehow a valid excuse. 

“Lexa.” Lincoln gapes, and Lexa can tell it’s breaking his big old nurse heart. “What are you spending your money on, if not-” 

“Rent. Taxes. Food.” Lexa’s snarky comebacks aren’t entertaining him in the least. 

“Okay. Fine. A...personal favor?” Lincoln asks. “We’ll pop in, see a friend of mine, and then we’ll come right back here.” 

Lexa doesn’t want to be an asshole. She doesn’t want to say the things she does, she doesn’t even mean them. But her heart is heavy and her skin is blank and there’s no one in the world who gives a damn about her- who  _ truly loves  _ her. So she says things she doesn’t mean. 

She pushes people away. 

“Don’t you have something better to do?” She hates the way her voice is cold, suddenly. “Isn’t friday date night for you and Octavia?” 

But she’ll be damned if Lincoln isn’t the most wonderful person she knows. 

He smiles. 

He honest to god just smiles and kisses her forehead, wrapping her in an embrace that reminds her why she thinks of him as her brother. He is, in all but blood. 

Lexa clutches him and doesn’t let go.

She feels a little light-headed, a little weak in the knees. 

She finds that, like so many times before in her life, Lincoln is supporting her, both mentally, and physically. 

And she feels a little less alone. 

* * *

Lincoln is Mr. Popularity. 

He always has been, since puberty kicked in and his athletic tendencies broke through. 

And Lexa? 

She’s never been a social outcast, per se. 

It wasn’t like that. She wasn’t the girl who ate alone at lunch, or the girl who was bullied for being gay, or anything of the sort. 

She wasn’t even soft spoken. 

Lexa used to be something of a leader. She used to be involved in student government in high school, a few sports teams, leader of the LGBT club, to name a few of her past accolades. 

In terms of dating? 

She was unsure of where she fell, on the scale. She’d only slept with two girls before Costia, both of which were more casual than they were serious. 

Costia, whom she met in college, in the “modern feminist” section of their library, was her first  _ not- _ love. 

(She refused to call it love, because for Lexa, love had to be at least somewhat mutual, and judging by the way Costia dumped her like a bucket of hot coals, it was safe to say that it was purely a one-sided affair). 

Her thoughts are muddled by the new barrage of waves and smiles Lincoln gets- as they walk through a hospital corridor, of all places. 

But Lincoln can make even a dreary hospital hallway feel like a red carpet walkthrough. And Lexa wants to smile at his infectious energy, but she remembers why he dragged her here, and her heart stutters. Literally. 

With a family prone to heart disease, Lexa can hardly think straight, let alone join Lincoln in his little strut through the hospital. 

They eventually come to a door that Lincoln pushes open for Lexa- and it’s exactly what she’d expected and feared simultaneously: an examination room. 

Nothing more, nothing less. 

* * *

They’ve been waiting for a solid thirty minutes when Lexa’s about to open her mouth to complain. 

She was going to say something about the futility of waiting around in a room for one of Lincoln’s medical friends. 

She was going to add in another little something about how it’s friday night, and she deserves to be at the very least, numbing the pain and not confronting it. 

But all of that goes out the window when the heavy door groans, announcing the presence of the woman in the doorway, and all Lexa can do is stare. 

She’s breathtaking. 

She reminds Lexa of summers down at the beach, rare moments of solace in the bustle of day to day life. 

Her blue eyes are brimming with some unspoken amusement, like everything is a pleasant joke, to her. Her smile isn’t tentative in the least- and Lexa’s heart wants to thrum at the idea, but she remembers that Lincoln is sitting beside her and she sobers when she realizes it’s not all meant for her. 

She can’t believe the patheticness of her own thoughts, sometimes. 

The woman’s blonde hair is pulled back into a messy bun, and yes, she’s wearing scrubs and a coat that probably shouldn’t entertain Lexa’s stray thoughts as much as it does. 

“Clarke.” Lincoln hops off the bench beside Lexa, paper beneath them crinkling unattractively.

Lincoln assumes a neutral position between the two of them, a smile on his face. 

“Clarke, this is Lexa, my little sister for all intents and purposes.” Lincoln teases, and Lexa stands suddenly, locking eyes with the blonde. 

“And Lexa, this is Dr. Clarke Griffin. She’s working on her residency right now.” 

Lexa nods, offering a smile. 

Gorgeous  _ and  _ successful. 

Lexa once again wishes life had handed her a different hobby to be halfway decent at. Like Biology or medicine. Something that she could use to contribute to society. 

“Hi.” Clarke’s voice isn’t silky- it’s husky and playful and Lexa could listen to it for hours. 

They shake hands and Lincoln begins to speak. 

“Clarke, she’s-” 

Clarke turns to Lincoln with a relaxed smile. She looks like she’s eager to prove herself, and Lexa wonders why. 

“Linc, I got it. Why don’t you relax? Grab a snack?” Clarke wiggles her eyebrows and Lincoln chuckles. 

“Alright, alright. I can tell when I’m not wanted.” Lincoln feigns a surrendering gesture, glancing at Lexa with a little look before turning. “I’ll be around.” 

Lexa just freezes as the door closes behind him with a soft thud, and she’s left with just Dr. Griffin and her own hammering heart. 

“So, Lexa.” Clarke motions for her to have a seat again. “I know this isn’t a totally formal appointment…” She can see Lexa eyeing her clipboard and she sounds apologetic. “Don’t worry, this is for my eyes only. I just want to make sure I cover everything.” 

Lexa clears her throat, feeling bad for acting so terribly awkward. 

“Thank you, for seeing me, Dr. Griffin. Lincoln tells me you didn’t have to.” She tries. 

Clarke laughs. It’s beautiful and melodic and Lexa sighs inwardly when she hears it. 

“Firstly- call me Clarke. Any friend of Lincoln’s is a friend of mine.” Clarke sounds like she knows it’s a breach in protocol, and Lexa’s writer mind, despite her pleas not to, tries to analyze why. 

It’s a bad habit she brings home from work. 

“...So…” Clarke continues, glancing at her. “What brought you in tonight?” 

Lexa sighs, outwardly this time. “I’ve had some weird...symptoms. Shortness of breath, dizziness, that sort of thing.” 

Clarke cocks a brow. 

They have the routine conversation. Clarke jots down notes, asks Lexa how often she exercises, drinks, smokes, what she eats- it’s all a blur. Lexa’s too busy stealing glances at Clarke when she writes, and Clarke occasionally glances back up with a stare Lexa can’t yet determine. 

“So you’re a writer?” Clarke asks, reaching for her stethoscope. 

It’s then that Lexa first sees it, something that inexplicably makes her feel like her heart has suddenly dropped into her stomach. 

There’s a black stain on Clarke’s right finger tip, barely there, almost as if it were a true ink stain- except Lexa’s jaded heart knows better. 

Clarke takes her silence for a negative response. 

She frowns, backtracking. “I’m sorry. I thought Lincoln had said-” 

Lexa snaps back into the moment, licking her lips. “I’m sorry. I zoned out for a moment there. But yes, I am a writer.” 

Clarke smiles, easy and forgiving. “Yeah? What kind of writing?” 

Lexa feels a sudden warmth wash over her, and she savors it. “I don’t really know how to classify it. I’m...undiscovered. I survive off donations to my blog.” She admits, suddenly feeling rather lame in front of the medical student. 

If Clarke’s unimpressed, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she eyes Lexa wistfully. 

“That’s beautiful.” She sighs, having forgotten about the task at hand. 

Lexa looks amused. “Beautifully tragic?” She tries, but it goes right over Clarke’s head. 

“You get to create worlds for a living.” Clarke rubs her arm a little self-consciously. “You get to do what you love, and share it with the world. What’s tragic about that?” 

“The fact that I can barely afford my rent.” Lexa chimes, sharp as a whip, and Clarke grins. 

“Ah, rent. A common enemy.” Clarke nudges her elbow, and Lexa’s lips quirk into an amused smile. 

“So...take off your shirt?” Clarke turns to her, and Lexa doesn’t miss a beat. 

“Well at least buy me dinner first.” 

Clarke’s cheeks turn pink and she rolls her eyes.

“You get that a lot?” Lexa feins a cringe and Clarke stifles a laugh. 

“I’m going to pass this under your bra strap-” 

“Is foreplay a new concept to you, Clarke?” 

Clarke pauses, a little grin on her features. “Lincoln’s right. You  _ are  _ a smartass. And here I thought you were just another stoic, devoid-of-life writer type.”

“Not on fridays.” Lexa tsks, and she shudders the minute Clarke’s stethoscope touches her bare skin. 

“Breathe in for me.” Clarke orders, a soft little whisper, and Lexa shudders because she imagines Clarke whispering that to her, under much different circumstances. 

She obeys, and Clarke chuckles a little. 

“What is it?” Lexa huffs, suddenly afraid. 

Why on Earth would she be  _ laughing _ ? 

“Your heart is  _ hammering _ .” Clarke pauses, leaning back. 

Lexa’s cheeks turn beet red and she bites her lip. 

_ Fucking perfect. _

Clarke’s knowing grin says it all- Lexa shouldn’t even bother lying. 

“It does that when I see someone particularly breathtaking.” Lexa murmurs, and it’s so innocent that Clarke is floored. 

She coughs a little, but the blush on her cheeks is obvious. 

“I’m sorry.” Lexa stutters, moving to stand. “I don’t know what came-” 

“Relax.” Clarke laughs, easygoing as she motions for Lexa to pause. 

“And for the record.” Clarke hums, going back to her original position behind Lexa. “This is  _ highly  _ unprofessional, but...me too.” 

Lexa’s heart skips a beat, or several hundred, and Clarke’s laughter fills the room again. 

Even when Lexa finally does manage to calm down, a dopey smile sits on her lips for the rest of her check-up. 

* * *

A few days after, Lexa finds herself thinking about Dr. Clarke Griffin more than she cares to admit. 

The way she smiled, so radiant, carefree. 

The way she handled Lexa’s rusty social skills with such finesse. 

She was something of an enigma.

Lexa found that she was thinking about Clarke more than she should have, and each time, it followed a similar cycle. 

She’d think of Clarke, of their conversations, their interactions. She’d remember the way she felt when Clarke would smile at her, or tease her, or even glance at her. 

And then she’d remember the  _ stupid  _ ink stain on her fingertips. 

And then, Lexa would  _ really  _ spiral. 

Why? 

She’d delve into facts, trying to sort what she knew. And what did she know? Clarke was not married. At least, she wasn’t displaying any rings. She was, according to Lincoln, openly bisexual. And apparently a little flirtatious. She had a soulmate mark on her fingertip, of all places. She’d touched Lexa with only a stethoscope, and gloved hands, when she’d ran her tests. 

And  _ then  _ Lexa would remember that  _ she  _ didn’t have her own mark. 

And it would all fall apart. 

It was pathetic, truly. At one point, after several glasses of wine, Lexa had gone so far as to check in the mirror, thinking that it would appear.  _ Maybe.  _

But of course, nothing. 

Nothing could convince her that she was an  _ exception _ . She wasn’t allowed the same happiness as nearly everyone else, and it just wasn’t  _ fair _ .

She wasn’t sure why she had thought Clarke was the one. 

She’d simply never had that sort of intense electric connection with anyone before. 

And now? 

She’s plagued with these thoughts. She can’t seem to escape Clarke’s gaze, her laugh, her smile- within her own thoughts. She doesn’t allow herself to wonder what it might be like to date Clarke. She can’t entertain the thoughts. 

She busies herself with cleaning, with working out- a lot of the things she used to do before Costia sent her in that downward spiral. 

And then, she gets the call. 

It’s Clarke, personally, calling her from work. 

With results from the tests. 

“I think you should come in to discuss your options.” Clarke tells her in a very monotone voice, and Lexa can’t decipher what it means until Clarke hangs up. 

* * *

It’s surreal to be back in the waiting room without Lincoln, what with his infectious happy attitude and attempts to calm Lexa down. 

She’s been waiting for twenty minutes, now seated in the same examination room as before. It’s as cold and sterile as she remembers it, especially without Clarke’s presence. 

Lexa figures she’ll try to catch up with Lincoln once she’s out, to see if he’ll want to grab lunch on his break. 

She just hopes the results are fine, and that her “options” are choices in whichever way she can try to pay. 

But something within her nags at her, telling her that they don’t call back patients for payment. 

Lexa shudders, feeling a tight feeling in her lungs and her chest. 

The door handle twitches, and then creaks, and the door opens. 

Clarke is there, but she’s following another, much older man. With the slight incline of her head, Lexa can gather that he’s clearly her superior, and that she didn’t want to get him involved. 

Lexa rubs her temples, trying not to sigh aloud. 

Of course this wouldn’t be easy. 

“Ms. Woods?” The man in the white lab coat speaks up, and Lexa glances at him. “I’m Dr. Wallace, and I’m a thoracic surgeon-” 

Lexa doesn’t hear much, after that. 

It’s funny. 

With writing, Lexa develops a sort of rhythm. When writing an unplanned sentence, in her mind, she can finish the sentence mentally before her fingers even hit the keys. 

She’s learned to do the same when people are speaking to her. 

It’s a bad habit, to be sure, but it allows her to study the moment in a different light. While others might be reacting to the news, as a writer, she’s canvassing. She’s studying the reactions, the way in which it said, the looks on the faces of whomever is speaking to her, and of those who are watching. 

She sees Clarke’s obvious discomfort. 

She gathers it’s not good. 

He’s a proclaimed cardiothoracic surgeon. 

_ Surgeon. _

_ Surgery.  _

_ There’s something wrong with her heart.  _

_ No surprise there, it’s been broken before.  _

_ Oh, shut up, Woods, now is not the time to be sorry for yourself.  _

_ Actually, it might be the perfect time… _

“Am I dying?” Lexa blurts out, and it’s so sudden and unexpected that Clarke’s eyes widen and she does a double take, while Dr. Wallace freezes, mid explanation. 

“What?” Clarke sputters. 

“No, no- As I said, it’s  _ benign _ , and the removal-” 

_ Oh.  _

_ So it’s a tumor.  _

_ In your heart.  _

_ You idiot. _

_ Next time, just listen to the whole sentence.  _

Lexa shuts off her inner monologue and focuses on the matter at hand. 

“Now, this is obviously your choice, but the procedure requires some planning. I’ll leave the information with you, Dr. Griffin. Dr. Griffin here is a wonderful new addition, Lexa, and I trust that she can answer any of your questions.” 

With a cold handshake, he’s out in a flurry, and Lexa wonders why he’s in such a rush, and if there are other people with broken hearts, waiting to be mended. 

“You okay?” Clarke’s voice is gentle, and Lexa glances at her. 

She doesn’t know what to say. 

How does anyone react to news like this? 

“You’re in great hands.” Clarke smiles reassuringly. “Dr. Wallace has been at it for years. He’s going to take care of you.” 

Lexa doesn’t answer for a moment, and then, after rubbing her neck nervously for some time, she shakes her head. “I can’t afford it.” 

Clarke blinks. 

Certainly not what she was expecting. 

“Lexa, it’s-” 

“Whatever it is, it’s out of my budget.” Lexa says, as if she’s reassuring herself. 

Clarke frowns. “It’s not  _ really  _ an option, Lexa. I mean, it is, but-” 

“I’ll take my chances.” Lexa huffs, hopping off the bench. 

Clarke looks dumbstruck. “Lexa, your health is paramount-” 

The truth of the matter is simple. 

Things haven’t been great, and this is simply the icing on the cake. 

“Can we just talk about this for a second?” Clarke pleads. 

Lexa shakes her head, mostly because she doesn’t trust herself to speak. She sighs and grabs her coat, and with hurried steps, she leaves Clarke standing in the room. 

There may not be anyone out there in the world for her, but that night, Lexa writes. She writes fluidly and vividly, each word dripping with emotion straight from her soul. She writes until her fingers tire and her hand cramps. She writes until she feels a little less alone. 


	2. Chapter Two

Lexa’s old fashioned. 

She shows it in some of the quirkier things she does. 

She knows of the advent of instant hot water, she knows there’s a perfectly good spout attached to her sink for that purpose. 

But there’s a cathartic feeling that comes with getting the kettle, boiling the water, steeping the tea. 

She once spent an entire afternoon watching a documentary on green tea, matcha, specifically, and the ritualistic way it was made. She was convinced it would taste infinitely better made correctly, bamboo whisk and all. 

Lexa’s old fashioned. 

But there are times like these, little intricate moments, that made her wish she knew how to live simply. 

The kettle is screeching on the stove, whistling at an obscene pitch, shooting steam out from within like an angry dragon. 

It’s screaming, and Lexa’s too busy dissociating, with her head buried on the counter in her arms, to do anything about it. 

The scream intensifies, and it becomes a dull throb that aches in her mind and rattles around in her skull, and all she can think is _I’m dying_. 

The sounds become too much, and the idea of fear-induced vomiting sounds pretty damn good right about now. 

Or fainting. 

Yeah, that. 

Lexa’s vision begins to cloud, and coupled with the screeching, Lexa begins to fade. 

Until a series of three solid knocks on her apartment door has her suddenly and uncontrollably back. She shakes the stars from her vision, stumbles over to the door, and without a little more than a glance out the peephole, she opens it. 

She must look like a mess.

Lexa wonders just _how_ bad she looks, because there’s suddenly a tall and furious looking blonde striding right past her, into an apartment she’s never visited before, and into her kitchen, finally killing that incessant screech. 

Lexa’s mind seems to snap into place at that, and she dabs at the corner of her eyes in self-pity. 

“Christ, Lexa, you should really invest in an electric kettle.” Clarke turns to her, still in her lab coat, after a long day of work. 

She looks exhausted, and ethereally beautiful. Like the sun, vibrant and wondrous, sustaining and preserving life, and setting beautifully into the shadows after a hard day’s work. 

Yeah, she likes that. 

Clarke is the sun. 

“Hello?” The apparent sun waves a hand in front of her, and Lexa stumbles back, blinking apologetically. 

“I’m traditional.” Lexa offers her a little smile, and Clarke meets her eyes with a little twinkle, about to smile back, and then….

And then she remembers how Lexa stormed out of her own appointment the other day, and Clarke scowls. 

Lexa’s heart drops a little, and Lexa can’t help but think that it can’t be very stable to begin with. 

“...How did you find my apartment?” Lexa narrows her eyes, and Clarke rolls hers. 

“If you don’t like that I looked in your file, I can always lie and say I asked Lincoln.” Clarke retorts, and dammit, Lexa finds herself smiling amusedly. 

“Isn’t that a breach of professionalism?” 

“Shut up.” Clarke’s witty response comes quickly. She softens then, and shakes her head. “I was expecting...some sort of follow-up call, from you.” She admits. 

Lexa worries her lip, eventually moving past Clarke to brandish two tea mugs from the cabinet. 

“I actually haven’t really left my apartment much, since then.” Lexa admits softly, and Clarke’s eyes linger on the small stretch of skin exposed when she leans upwards momentarily. 

“Lexa, you’re not…” 

“Dying?” Lexa supplies, a little dryly. 

“I just wanted to talk to you...as a friend. I hope I’m not crossing any boundaries here that make you uncomfortable?” Clarke looks so hopeful, and Lexa doesn’t have it in her to crush her soul. 

“...No, you’re alright.” Lexa responds, and then glances at her. “Let’s at least sit down.” 

* * *

“Your apartment is so….” Clarke drawls. 

“Neat?” Lexa quirks a brow. “Lackluster?” 

“Slow down Merriam Webster, I was going to say...aesthetic. The writing nook by the window? The shelves, the succulents, the string lights…” Clarke gestures wildly, almost excitedly. “I was going to say, this is like, Lesbian Heaven.” 

“Heaven isn’t really the word I’d use to describe it.” Lexa manages, choking a little on her tea. 

“I’d spend hours here.” Clarke admits, a red flush to her cheeks. 

Lexa’s heart hurts after that. She wants to tell Clarke she can stay forever, but it all comes back to her. Her heart, Clarke’s soulmate mark, the fact that she doesn’t have hers. 

She sips her tea, hoping the warmth will combat some of the dark, unwelcoming feelings brewing inside her. 

“Is that where you work?” Clarke asks, when she realizes Lexa is spiraling again. 

Lexa glances at the laptop, and nods. “I think I’ve experienced every emotion known to man, just sitting in that corner.” 

Clarke looks intrigued. “Could I...maybe someday, read some of your works?” 

Lexa pauses, eyes widening. “I…” 

“If it’s not too personal!” Clarke adds. 

Lexa calms her with a little smile. “It’s not.” She promises, knowing full well that it’s a damn lie, but truthfully, the idea of sharing it with Clarke excites her. 

“....So-” 

“Why don’t we talk about my heart?” Lexa sighs mercifully.

Clarke sobers up, and Lexa decides that she can throw a tantrum later, and it’s best to hear Clarke out this time. 

“...I want you to know that...we can figure this out, Lexa.” Clarke explains, folding her hands in her lap. She looks a little too rigid, a little too professional. 

Lexa notices the way her fingers twitch, unable to stay statuesque. If Lexa didn’t know any better, she’d think Clarke is trying to reach her. To comfort her. 

But Lexa knows better. 

(Or so she thinks). 

“We?” Lexa asks, but it’s more of a croak, truly. 

“Yes, we.” Clarke replies firmly. “If you want to go through with this...I’m going to be there for as much of it as I can. I’m going to help you with prep, and I’m going to make sure everything goes smoothly in that O.R., because I’ll be there. And when it’s over, and you feel brand new again, and you become a very successful author, I’ll show up at one of your book signings and ask you to write me a little personalized _I told you so_ note.” Clarke rambles quickly, and Lexa knows it’s because the words coming from her are coming directly from her heart. 

It’s touching, really, to see a relative stranger care so much. 

Clarke isn’t obligated to help her, by any means. 

But she wants to. 

It’s that...good, that selflessness and heroism that leaves Lexa a little winded. 

She hasn’t seen something like this in quite a while. It’s been absent from her own stories, as a result. 

And then, the idea hits her like a ton of bricks. 

The _tragic hero._

For so long, she’d thought she’d been playing to her strengths, writing her novels about the great and tragic hero archetype. 

The type of hero that loses everything, in the end. 

The type of her that never comes out okay on the other side. 

Lexa had been so sure of her classical style, so sure that she could tell the world’s greatest story by simply improving upon her favorites, growing up. 

But now, it had seeped into every part of her being. She was a walking tragedy, plagued by peripeteia, and destined to live out the same doomed life as all of her protagonists. 

Lexa simply thought she’d turned to fatalism, somewhere between losing what was left of her family, and what had happened to her. 

She’d become her own story, and it was only with authorial power and dignity that she could reform her life, revise her chapters so that they didn’t read as drab or inconsequential. 

And Clarke? 

Clarke was going to be her co-author. 

“Lexa?” The name echoes for a moment, on the inside of Lexa’s tired mind, until it finally registers, and Lexa glances up with wide eyes. 

“...When do we start?” Lexa murmurs. 

* * *

“Linc! Hey!” Clarke finds him sitting in the breakroom, eating away at salad that looks ridiculously healthy and not at all enticing in the middle of a workday. 

Clarke glances around, making sure they’re alone, before sliding into the seat opposite him. 

Lincoln smiles in greeting, and moves aside some of his stuff for Clarke to sit comfortably. 

“Hi, Clarke.” His voice has lacked that certain _spark_ since Lexa’s results came back, but it’s evident that he’s still trying. 

“Hi.” Clarke breathes. “So, I don’t know if Lexa spoke to you-” 

“She did.” Clarke nods. “Well, I did.” 

Lincoln puts a hand on Clarke’s for a moment, all supportive and caring. “Thank you.” His voice is sincere, and Clarke can’t help but be soothed by it. “Lexa was really spiraling. I know that this seems backwards, but maybe...this is her new start, you know?” 

Clarke nods, taking in every bit of information she can from his words. 

Lexa is an enigma. That much is clear. 

“...She was mostly worried about the payment.” Clarke clarifies lamely. 

Lincoln nods. “I know that sounds foolish, but she was in a dark place, Clarke. She was already down, and this? Just think. Why bother shelling out so much money just so you can maintain... _that_ lifestyle. She’s been through a lot.” 

Clarke listens intently, her heart aching for the girl. 

Something about her was simply whimsical. Clarke didn’t know how, but she just _knew_ Lexa had a beautiful mind. She was a neat-freak, slightly eccentric, and witty as hell. 

Clarke smiles stupidly thinking about her, for a moment, but Lincoln plows right on. 

“-and there’s the whole soulmate mark thing that’s been getting her down, the older she gets-” 

“What?” Clarke lifts her head up, sparkling blue eyes meeting Lincoln’s. 

Lincoln blinks. “What?” He repeats dumbly. 

“What did you just say? About the soulmate mark?” Clarke clarifies. 

Lincoln shrugs. “Didn’t you read her file? She’s one of the rare ones. No visible marks.” 

Clarke’s eyes widen, and she takes a moment, storing the information. 

“...So she’s not….” 

“She’s single. Her last girlfriend actually dumped her _because_ of that.” Lincoln explains, sadly. “And it’s ridiculous, because Lexa’s one of the greatest people I know.” 

Clarke looks dumbstruck, staring at Lincoln as if he’s grown a second head. 

She glances down at her fingertip, where it’s stained, and tries to recall where she touched Lexa first. 

_It was her back, wasn’t it? To hear her breathe?_

_Oh, fuck, did I actually touch her back?_

The calculations run through Clarke’s brain, and Clarke can do nothing but try to remember, desperately. 

She doesn’t even want to question _why_ it matters, because she already knows she’s in a little too deep. 

“So that’s what has her...depressed?” Clarke tries, but her mind is a jumble, and she realizes it’s not the most eloquent wording. 

Lincoln shrugs. “She’s had it rough, Clarke. That’s all. I’m sure she’s really grateful you’re doing this with her, you know? Like, maybe you restored a little hope in her.” 

Clarke slams her fist on the table with a sense of duty. 

It’s a little cheesy, but the sentiment is genuine, and it fuels her fire. 

“I’m going to give her a lot more than hope.” 

* * *

By the next week, the so called “preparation” has begun. 

Though the real operation is still nearly a month away, Clarke has taken control of Lexa’s routine, giving her specific tasks, exercises, and rules to monitor her until then. 

Lexa has listened, mostly planning on ignoring most of them (the “no drinking rule” in particular), thinking Clarke has no way of enforcing them. 

Until she gets a text, right in the middle of a writing session, from an unknown number. She’d been reaching for the wine bottle she’d been saving. 

**Unknown (7:06 PM):**

I’m serious about the drinks, Woods. 

You’re on my watch. 

**Lexa:**

...Did you mount cameras here, too? 

How did you know? 

**Clarke**

I pay attention when you talk! 

You said you love a good glass of wine when you write. 

Which is in the evenings. 

**Lexa**

How very thoughtful. 

...I can’t even have one glass? 

**Clarke**

….Well, depends. 

**Lexa**

On what, exactly, doc? 

**Clarke**

You got enough for two glasses? 

My shift just ended and I want to die

Lexa grins, and she ignores the butterflies in her stomach. 

She doesn’t know what their relationship is at this point, and she doesn’t care. All her heart, her mind, her soul, wants, is more Clarke. 

So she obliges. 

* * *

By the time Lexa swings open the door, Clarke is basically a crumpled mess behind it, in scrubs and a coat and bags under her eyes. 

Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun, and her expression is exhausted. 

Lexa thinks she looks absolutely breathtaking, just like this. 

She’s come from saving lives, from pursuing one of the most complex fields of work. She’s come from taking a look at problems that most people in the world wouldn’t be able to solve. 

And she’s wearing that little shit-eating grin that sets Lexa’s soul on fire. 

Lexa stares, a little open mouthed, and it slips out. 

The small, tender, “You look beautiful, Klark.” 

Lexa gapes at herself in horror, and Clarke’s eyes widen, her mouth parting slightly. 

_Lexa, you goddamn embarrassment. You haven’t even had alcohol yet._

Clarke, to her credit, laughs incredulously. There’s a very noticeable blush on her cheeks, and she absolutely basks in the compliment inwardly, her insides fluttering and humming with excitement. 

“Thank you, but I just finished a twelve-hour shift.” Clarke snorts, stepping past her and into the apartment, where she sits on the couch with practiced ease. 

Lexa’s gut tells her that she likes that view- of Clarke, lazily splayed out on her couch, ready to end the day with her. 

She quickly shakes the thoughts away, terrified of what her brain is doing to her. 

“I wrote some poetry today.” Lexa blurts out, reaching for the bottle of wine. 

Clarke immediately listens, attention solely focused on Lexa’s words. She’s fascinated by it, which in turn, fascinates Lexa. The idea that she, a doctor, a surgeon in training, could possibly enjoy the measly stringing together of words, and not piecing together parts of the human anatomy...it rings as a foreign concept. 

Lexa can’t possibly wrap her head around it. 

“About what?” Clarke asks, batting her lashes prettily. 

Lexa chuckles. “It’s cliche, but...the sun.” She admits, somehow paranoid that Clarke will see through the whole guise and understand that Lexa is trying to tell her that she is her new muse. 

Of course, she worries for naught. 

Clarke just smiles and nods encouragingly. 

Lexa hands her the wine, and sits back in a chair opposite her. 

Clarke thanks her and takes a swig, the wine passing over plump lips that Lexa’s gaze is fixed on, unable to move from the spot. 

It’s only in that moment that she realizes that whatever little dynamic she has with Clarke goes... _deeper_. 

She’s slowly tracing her lips- and that beauty mark, with her eyes, all the way down to her neck and collarbone, hidden beneath her shirt. 

Clarke is breathtaking. 

It makes Lexa blurt out the wrong thing, sometimes. 

“Isn’t this a breach in doctor-patient relationship...laws….?”Lexa tries, but it falls a little short, because she’s not even _sure_ that’s a rule. 

Here’s what Lexa loves about Clarke: She challenges her. 

She doesn’t settle, she doesn’t give direct answers, they _play_ with each other, just a little bit. 

Lexa hates to think of it this way, because she wants nothing more than to be close to Clarke in any capacity, but it seems like something _soulmates_ would understand. 

Clarke tilts her head up, licks the last of the wine from her lips, and sets her glass down. 

“I can leave.” She drawls, and grins when Lexa backtracks. 

“No! I uh, I mean, of course I want you here, but-” 

“You’re a stickler for the rules, Woods?” Clarke cuts her off. 

Lexa blinks. “...Not particularly.” She admits. 

Really, that was more of Lexa trying to come up with an excuse to protect her heart, but being a stickler for the rules sounds far less offensive. 

“Well, I’m not.” Clarke decides aloud with a huff. “I think rules are made to be broken.” 

“Coming from the person in charge of my fate…” Lexa drawls teasingly, wiggling her eyebrows. “...That’s not very comforting.” 

Clarke grins, elated that Lexa is finding it within herself to joke about the matter. It’s already such a stark contrast with the way she’d reacted earlier. 

“Is that all you see me as?” Clarke feigns offense, clutching at her chest. “A healthcare provider?” 

Lexa smirks over her glass. “I haven’t known you very long, you know.” 

Clarke pauses, looking as if the wind is knocked out of her. Her face falls, for a moment, but it doesn’t change to an expression of hurt, rather, sadness. 

Lexa backtracks, looking suddenly guilty. “Clarke-” 

“No, you’re totally right.” Clarke nods, looking solemn. “You probably don’t even know why I’m here.” 

“...To monitor my drinking habits?” Lexa rasps, but her tone falters. 

Clarke glances at her, admiring the little unruly curls falling from her messy bun. She doesn’t know why she wants to just cup those cheeks and kiss Lexa until she’s breathless, but she’s fairly certain this is no longer a normal occurrence. 

“That’s actually just my guise to spend more time with you.” Clarke offers nonchalantly, sipping her wine. 

Lexa is frozen in place, licking her lips slowly, to consider the words.

Her brain is whirring, thoughts racing as she tries to process what she’s heard. Is it playful banter? Is Clarke Griffin flirting with her? 

“I just…” Clarke shakes her head. “I was talking to Lincoln, earlier.” She admits, taking a final swig of her wine to finish it off, just because.

“About me?” Lexa questions, a little rise in her tone indicating a healthy suspicion. 

“Yes.” Clarke doesn’t hesitate. “And I didn’t realize how much I was thinking about it...about you...until now.” Clarke finishes. 

Lexa’s poor heart is hammering out of its chest now, and she’s not sure why. 

Clarke’s just worried about her health, right? 

Oh, god, what if she is dying? What if this is Clarke trying to tell her that she’s already progressed past the feasible stages of prevention, and now-

“So I’m dying?” Lexa breathes, and Clarke is so surprised by that statement, she flinches. 

“No- What?! Lexa, are you serious right now?” Clarke eyes her up and down. “I’m trying to tell you I can’t get you off my mind and _this_ is what you think?!”

Lexa pauses, mouth open. 

Oh. 

_OH._

_….Wait, what?_

“....You _like_ me?” Lexa sputters, and Clarke _loves_ the way it turns her cheeks red. 

Clarke grins. “Maybe. I hardly know you. But you’re so easy to talk to. And I don’t know why, but...Whatever Lincoln said about you...I wanted to know more.” Clarke finishes, a little more humble than before. 

“...So you’re not here to make sure I’m still okay?” Lexa asks, and Clarke pinches the bridge of her nose. 

Lexa smiles, witty and amused. 

“Well, if you’re not going to say anything and just watch me make a fool of myself like this-” Clarke is suddenly cut off by Lexa’s sudden look of horror. 

“No! I’m sorry.” Lexa chuckles, and the sound is soft and beautiful. “I’m just...a little stunned, I suppose.” 

“Stunned?” Clarke snorts. “As if you didn’t have people tripping over each other to date you?” 

Lexa blushes. “I just didn’t see it coming from...this situation.” She gestures between them. 

Clarke bites her lip. “Because it would be irresponsible as your health care professional?” 

“...I’m not complaining.” Lexa answers wisely, and Clarke nods. 

“...Well even though I’m not your primary surgeon...It’s against the rules. Until we fix you. And then you’re all mine. Hypothetically.” She adds, humor tinting her tone. 

“Yours?” Lexa utters, and Clarke backtracks wildly. 

“I mean, whoever’s! I don’t...I didn’t mean...Not like that!” Clarke huffs. 

Lexa smirks, but then it shifts when she glances at Clarke’s fingertips, her soulmate mark highly prominent. 

“...Not yours.” Lexa confirms, a little sadly, a little melancholy. 

Clarke doesn’t follow, not at first, anyway. 

She follows Lexa’s gaze to her fingers, and then shakes her head wildly. 

“Oh! That doesn’t mean shit.” Clarke defends, shrugging her shoulders. 

Lexa blinks, suddenly stupefied. Here, Clarke just took the one thing Lexa would _kill_ for, the sort of insurance that she won’t be alone for the rest of her days, and she _spat_ on it. 

She didn’t even mince words. 

“...How can you say that?” Lexa whispers, dumbstruck. 

“It’s a stupid tradition, anyway.” Clarke snorts. “Outdated.” 

“It’s...biology.” Lexa corrects softly. 

“Maybe, but since when has love been a science?” Clarke offers. “There are no rules, no logic, just...feelings. Actions. Emotions. It can happen to anyone, anywhere. Thinking of it differently would take the...romance out of it. I mean, I haven’t met the person on the other end of _these_ -” She glances at her fingertip. “But I don’t care. I pay attention to what’s in front of me, you know? Otherwise…” She notices Lexa’s rapt attention, slightly parted, pouty lips. Lexa’s forest green gaze looks glossed over with moisture. “...I might miss something really beautiful.” 

Lexa’s smiling at her, and Clarke shakes her head. 

“What?” 

Lexa takes a moment, drinking her in with her eyes. 

“Oh, nothing.” 

“Come on.” Clarke laughs. “Indulge me. What are you thinking, right now?” 

Lexa smiles, taking in as much of Clarke as she possibly can. Her eyes, her body language, her energy, her posture, right down to the little beauty mark on her lip. 

She can’t explain it, but Clarke makes her feel a certain way, as if something long dormant within her has been awakened. 

“I just really want to write about you right now.” 


	3. Chapter Three

Lexa doesn’t believe love is possible, for her. 

There is a loneliness that develops, that settles in one’s soul, after a certain amount of time, watching one’s peers pair off, again and again. 

What even is love? 

The concept is foreign. Something she’s heard a lot. Unsure if she’s ever experienced it. 

It’s less of a feeling, more of a hot button issue now, bleeding out of the gutters of the media, forced down the throats of any and everyone. 

You’re supposed to fall in love. 

You’re supposed to fall in love with your soulmate. You’re supposed to find someone who personifies every characteristic you’ve come to admire, and then you’re supposed to pounce. 

To put a ring on their finger, to claim before anyone else can, and then to just...figure the rest out. 

Or, maybe, that was a pragmatist’s version of love. 

But, doubtlessly, there’s something that frustrates Lexa about watching every friend or acquaintance she’s ever had, find love and happiness, while she continues to wallow in loneliness. 

Putting her lack of a soulmate mark aside, for a moment: Lexa was  _ still _ unsure if she’d ever fall in love. 

Frankly,  _ no one  _ personified the perfect ideals she’d had in mind. 

It wasn’t a lack of attraction, or anything of the sort- Lexa wasn’t terrible to look at. 

(She was beautiful, but of course, she didn’t really know that, either). 

It was a much more deep, fundamental flaw. 

She wanted someone who could understand her. Someone who could fuel her bouts of inspiration, rage, humor. Someone who wouldn’t peer over her shoulder while she was writing (she absolutely detested that). Someone who didn’t want to make small-talk. Someone with ambition, someone who wanted to ask the hard questions. Someone witty, someone with an endless reserve of patience, and yet someone equally as stubborn as she. 

And oh, did that someone saunter into her life with a lab coat and a pearly white smile, complete with a little beauty mark over her upper lip. 

Her name was Clarke Griffin and Lexa had no idea how she could be enamored with someone she’d just met. 

For all the logic and wisdom she’d sought to ingrain in her mind...well, it simply all went down the gutter for Clarke. 

And that was terrifying. 

* * *

Lexa’s halfway through her latest burst of inspiration. 

Keys clacking away furiously, long, elegant fingers twirling around in a practiced dance. Rarely do they approach the delete key, far too occupied with what they should be writing rather than what they shouldn’t. 

That’s rare, in Lexa’s world. 

For her to shift her focus to writing only, and not scrutinizing her work? Well, that’d take an immense force of nature. A miracle at the very least. 

Love. 

_ Love _ .

Lexa’s left hand leaves the keyboard, blindly reaching for a chocolate bar she’d left there. 

It finds no such chocolate bar. 

Just a hand, softly squeezing hers. 

Lexa jolts back, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. 

“Clarke?” She sputtered, looking up at her with an owlish gaze. 

“Why do you always act like I’ve broken into your home?” Clarke snorts. “This is the third time this week you’ve startled,  _ after _ you’ve already let me into your apartment.” 

“I…” Lexa licks her lips, but her mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not peeking. I respect some good old fashioned privacy.” Clarke winked at her, and Lexa tilted her head curiously. 

Clarke was holding a bowl of stirfry. 

Which she’d been making in Lexa’s kitchen. 

While she’d been working. 

Oh, yeah. Now it was all coming back to her. As the haze of writing leaves Lexa’s mind, color seems to flood to her cheeks. 

Clarke was visiting, and she’d been so stricken, so inspired, so thoroughly bit by the pesky bug of inspiration, that she’d just left Clarke, cooking in her kitchen. 

She slaps her forehead. 

“Oh, fuck. Clarke. I’m so sorry-” 

“Sorry for what?” Clarke asks, never judging, always curious. 

Lexa thinks she could tell Clarke she murdered someone and still not receive any judgement from those cerulean eyes. 

“I left you alone in the kitchen. I didn’t mean to get so...involved.” 

Clarke smiles, giving her a shrug. “I like watching you in the zone. Your fingers are...ridiculously fast.” 

Lexa pauses, glancing down at her fingers, as if checking to see if she still has them. 

“And long.” Clarke’s additional commentary stuns Lexa. She glances up, and Clarke’s smirking. “Have you considered being a hand model?” 

“ _ That’s  _ what you’d have me do with them?” Lexa snorts. 

Clarke smirks. “Why, something else you had in mind, tiger?” 

Lexa’s sputtering again and Clarke’s smile only grows. 

They’ve been like this, ever since Clarke may or may not have admitted to being...interested in Lexa. 

After the procedure, of course. 

Which she’d convinced Lexa to undergo. 

So, naturally, Lexa can’t wait until they fix her stupid heart so she can use it. 

“Are you always this unprofessional?” Lexa asks, leaning back in her chair, meeting Clarke’s playful gaze. 

“Only with the hot ones.” Clarke fires back easily. “Now, eat. It’s heart healthy stir fry, how cool is that?” 

Lexa smiled, unable to resist, as she took the bowl from Clarke, who sat beside her in the open chair. 

“Heart healthy stir fry.” Lexa mumbles to herself, a little smile on her lips still. 

“What?” Clarke quips. “I know it’s lame, but-” 

“It’s not lame. I just...thank you. I’ve never known a doctor to care enough for their patient to come to their house and make them food.” Lexa tests the waters. 

Clarke’s smile says it all. 

“You’re right. This definitely is special treatment.” Clarke hums. 

“Thank you, Clarke.” Lexa’s smile softens. 

“Well I have to keep you around and in good shape if I’m going to date you, right?” Clarke shrugs. 

Lexa chokes on her next bite, and Clarke grins. 

“You sound serious about that.” Lexa manages, heart hammering in her chest. 

Who  _ is  _ this woman and why is she so damn good at teasing? 

“You care a lot about some stupid old traditions.” Clarke nods to her mark, and Lexa’s brows furrow. 

“Just because we have a history of doing something, that doesn’t make it tradition.” Lexa points out. 

Clarke’s brows furrow. “I don’t really follow.” 

“We have a history of...breathing.” Lexa hums. “That’s just biology. Who’s to say that soulmate marks aren’t biological?” 

Clarke frowns. “You’re a writer. You can’t seriously tell me that’s your outlook on love.” 

_ No,  _ Lexa wants to say.  _ I think love is when your heart is absolutely aching, and it’s not because there’s a tumor on it, but because of the amazing woman two feet away from you.  _

“It’s not.” Lexa settles, and Clarke nods, satisfied. 

Lexa especially feels like an idiot after she realizes she’s just compared love to breathing, and ironically, she can’t ever seem to breathe properly in Clarke’s presence. 

* * *

Lincoln comes to visit Lexa the next day, and if his grin is anything to go by, as they peruse the aisles of the grocery store together, Clarke has certainly been keeping him in the loop. 

He wears a shit eating grin that just screams “I told you so”, and Lexa knows he’s right, which only makes it worse. 

She buries her head in her activities, trying to make it seem like she’s overly interested in the produce she’s hovering over. 

She doesn’t even really  _ like  _ zucchinis. 

But they’re on a “helpful heart-healthy recipe list” that Clarke sent her, and she doesn’t know why, but she has a feeling that, if Clarke told her to jump off a bridge, she wouldn’t think twice about it. 

That’s casually the most terrifying thought she’s had all day. 

“So, shopping for date night?” Lincoln prods, plucking a handful of ripe tomatoes from where they sit on the shelf. 

“Don’t.” Lexa groans. “Can we not do this right now?” 

“Do what, face the truth?” Lincoln’s smile says everything: he’s not letting it go. “Does Tuesday work better for you?” 

Lexa rolls her eyes in response. 

“I have it on good authority that Clarke is equally as smitten. You think she shows up to every patient’s house and cooks for them?”

Lexa’s blush is now fully apparent. 

“Isn’t this weird? And against the rules?” She tries, hoping it’ll throw him off her trail. 

It does not. 

Lincoln snorts. “What is this, Grey’s Anatomy?” 

Lexa bites back a smile. 

Oh, Lincoln. 

Always saying just the right thing. 

“I don’t watch that tripe.” Lexa sniffs disdainfully. 

“You’re so uppity.” Lincoln grins, pushing the cart forward, Lexa in tow. “O and I watch it all the time. And besides, why are you so hesitant? Clarke’s an amazing person, with  _ my  _ seal of approval, and she  _ likes _ you. I...fail to see where this is not a good thing?” 

Lexa scowls, the frustration evident on her face. “The part where I don’t have that  _ guarantee  _ that anything we do or say is going to be meaningful and last. Costia  _ left  _ because of that. I’m not signing myself up for-” 

“Clarke’s  _ not _ Costia.” Lincoln answers with a simple shrug of his shoulders. 

“...It’s just that simple for you?” Lexa scoffs and cocks an eyebrow. 

“It  _ is  _ that simple, Lex.” Lincoln pats her shoulder. “Sometimes, you get all sorts of convoluted scenarios all fired up and tangled, in that writer’s brain of yours.” 

“That  _ is  _ my profession.” Lexa grits, but there’s no malice behind it as she reaches for the asparagus. 

“Then look at it this way: you’re authoring your own story here! Quit making it a tragedy before it’s even begun. And Lexa- you’re  _ not  _ supposed to eat ice cream. Stop looking at the frozen section.” 

“Why did I bring you?” 

“Literally for this exact reason.” 

* * *

Lexa can’t remember the last time she’s been sent into a panic attack like this. 

She’s usually calm, reserved, perhaps mentally flailing about, but she’s usually able to keep it inside, for the most part. 

But something about these... _ tests... _ have her suddenly thinking the worst. 

She’s seen the endless texts, the missed calls from Clarke, from Lincoln. 

She knows she’s supposed to be at the hospital right now, for Clarke to run the aforementioned tests, all a part of her pre-surgery preparation. 

Honestly, she knew it was coming. She knew long before the texts were ever received, and she knows exactly  _ why _ she doesn’t want to go in for those stupid tests in the first place. 

Frankly, it’s a commitment. 

It’s making her situation all too real. 

It’s one thing to eat “heart healthy” recipes and talk about what she’ll do when her heart isn’t being weighed down by a tumor. 

It’s another to be hooked up to some machines, and told just how exactly they’re going to cut her open and carve her like a pumpkin on halloween. 

And even  _ that _ isn’t the most daunting prospect. 

In these few short weeks of knowing Clarke, Lexa’s been noticing how much Clarke had begun to occupy her thoughts, her writing, and even some of her daydreams. 

It’s terrifying, especially for having known Clarke for such a short amount of time. 

Once more, she glances at the barrage of messages on her phone, and licks her lips in some sort of deep contemplation. 

**_Clarke Griffin:_ **

**_(12:02 PM)_ **

_ We’re still on for your 12:30 appointment, right?  _

_ You didn’t respond last night so I wasn’t sure!  _

**_(12:15 PM)_ **

_ I thought maybe if you wanted to swing by early, we could get some coffee over my break? LMK.  _

**_Linc:_ **

**_(12:25 PM)_ **

_ You’re not where we agreed to meet in the waiting room.  _

**_(12:30 PM)_ ** __

_ You’re never late. So I officially know you’re ignoring these. Lexa, it’s just a test, what are you doing? Clarke has other patients.  _

**_Clarke:_ **

**_(12:32 PM)_ **

_ Lexa?  _

_ If you’re not coming, at least call me.  _

_ ( _ **_12:40 PM)_ **

_ … Lincoln told me what might be happening. If you’re nervous, just tell me. We don’t have to do this today, even!  _

**(12:50 PM)**

_ Okay then. Either you forgot or you didn’t want to come in. I have to get to work now.  _

  
  


Lexa stares at the texts, feeling an uncomfortable knot twisting in her stomach. She was acting like a child. And for what? She realizes that she’d been idiotic before. To refuse help, and Clarke’s attention, because she feared losing it in the first place? 

Not her brightest move. 

Hurriedly, she runs to the door, tossing her coat over arm in a rush to leave her apartment behind. 

* * *

By the time Lexa gets to the hospital, it’s already 1:30 in the afternoon. Having thoroughly missed her appointment, she’s unsurprised to get to the waiting room to find her name missing from the queue of waiting people. 

The room is fuller than full. 

It’s packed like a can of sardines, and Lexa feels guilt gnaw at her once more when she realizes that  _ every single one _ of those people is now entitled to receive their care before she can. 

Why? 

Because they fucking showed up for their appointment. 

There are no available seats. 

At that, Lexa kicks herself. 

She deserves this. 

Almost as if by miracle, Lexa sees glimpses of blonde hair passing through the hallway. 

_ Clarke. _

In an instant, her damn injured heart beats a mile a minute, and before she can think to stop herself, she’s already making a beeline for the blonde, whose back is turned to her. 

When Clarke wheels around to see her, she initially grins, but then realizes that Lexa stood her up (in some sense) and frowns, a scowl quickly replacing her once happy smile. 

Lexa bites her lip. 

So that’s not good. 

“Your phone broken, or something?” Clarke asks, pursing her lips afterwards and tucking a clipboard under her arm in annoyance. 

“No, I got your messages.” Lexa admits with a sheepish look. “I...I got scared, Clarke.” 

Clarke doesn’t look surprised at all. 

In fact, she nods knowingly. 

“That much, I figured. But not responding? Low blow, Woods.” 

Lexa rubs her neck. 

How can she explain that she’s terrified of falling in love with her? How can she explain that it’s not the tests, or the illness, or surgery that frightens the living shit out of her? 

How can she possibly relay to Clarke that she makes her heart trip over itself like it never has before? How can she convey that even the  _ idea _ of falling in love without the security of knowing whether she could be loved in turn  _ terrifies  _ her? 

“...I was scared.” She settles. 

_ Jesus fuck Alexandria, you call yourself a writer? You can’t even string together one coherent apology.  _

“Well, I’m sorry. I have clinic duty to attend to.” Clarke shrugs it off, but Lexa can tell she’s not exactly comfortable being the bad guy. 

She deserves that, too. 

“Should I leave?” Lexa asks softly, and Clarke’s frown deepens at the idea. 

“No. You should sign in and wait your turn to be treated.” Clarke gestures to the front desk. 

Lexa’s eyes widen. “The wait time is five hours, Clarke!” 

Clarke tsks. “Next time, don’t be late. Or, better yet, tell me the truth instead of avoiding me.” 

“...Will you still be here?” Lexa asks, mainly because if Clarke says no, she’s decided that she’d rather just die than wait in this godforsaken room to be treated by anyone other than her. 

Clarke’s eyes soften just a touch, and Lexa has her answer. 

“Yes.” 

With that, Clarke is off, calling another patient’s name, and leading them away from the main waiting room. 

Lexa blows out a breath, glancing at the clock. 

Okay. 

Five hours was nothing, right? She’d binged shows on Netflix for longer, right? 

(She had). 

“Next.” Clearly, the lady at the front desk isn’t messing around. Lexa sighs, and approaches, deciding that however bad the five hours of waiting are, they can’t be worse than the feeling she felt when she knew she’d disappointed Clarke. 

* * *

The man with the mustache. 

The two old ladies at the far end of the room. 

The middle aged man reading a newspaper. 

The crying baby, nestled in his mother’s arms. 

The little girl with the ice pack on her arm, miserably cuddled into her mother’s side. 

These are the last companions Lexa has in the waiting room. 

She’s waited four and a half hours. 

Two bathroom trips, a trip to the lobby for some coffee, and two podcasts later: it all brought her to this. 

Her head is aching, her body is tired, and she doesn’t know how she’s supposed to go through any tests at this rate. 

But then, Clarke Griffin enters the doorway and pauses when she stares at her clipboard, brows furrowed. “Lexa?” She asks in amazement, as if she cannot actually believe that Lexa stayed. 

Lexa offers her a smile, taking a chance, and her heart  _ melts  _ when Clarke reciprocates it. 

So maybe all is forgiven. 

“You waited?” Clarke asks softly as Lexa approaches, out of earshot of the other patients. 

“I did.” Lexa confirms, glancing into blue eyes that she’s grown so fond of. “I’m sorry for earlier. I wasn’t thinking straight.” 

Clarke just stares at her with a wondrous smile. 

“It’s okay. Why don’t we-” 

A cry erupts into the silence. Lexa and Clarke both wheel around to see the little girl, lower lip wobbling, as she turns to her helpless mother for assistance. 

“Mommy, it  _ hurts _ .” The girl wails, and Lexa realizes she can’t be more than five or six. 

Her mother frowns, looking torn up. “We’re almost there, baby. Just a few more-” 

Lexa doesn’t bother listening to the rest. She turns to Clarke with almost lightning speed. 

“Is she next on your list?” Lexa asks, and Clarke takes a moment to check. 

“Charlotte?” Clarke asks aloud, and both the girl and her mother snap their heads in Clarke’s direction, momentarily forgetting the injury. 

“That’s us.” Her mother begins to gather her belongings. She pauses, mid-step, when she sees Lexa. “Are you not ready for us, yet?” She asks Clarke a little suspiciously, eyes narrowed. 

Lexa shakes her head. “You can go in front of me.” She promises to the girl, mostly, whose eyes are shining with hope for the first time since Lexa has seen her come into the waiting room. 

“Are you sure?” Clarke asks her softly. 

“Of course. I’ll be here.” Lexa doesn’t hesitate, and for just a split second, she and Clarke share an intense gaze. 

There’s more to it than there was before, and that’s saying a lot. 

Clarke shakes her head for a moment in disbelief at the selflessness of Lexa’s actions. 

“Um, yeah, okay. Lexa, wait here. I’ll be back for you as soon as we help Charlotte out, okay?” Clarke tells her, and Lexa nods, giving her the final go-ahead. 

Clarke offers a bright smile to the little girl, and as she begins to ask her what happened, the door to the hallway closes behind them, and leaves Lexa back in the waiting room. 

She turns back to sit in her seat, and notices the man with the newspaper quickly looking away, and the two old ladies at the far end of the room doing the same. 

They all seem to be hiding smiles, and Lexa tries to ignore the feeling of warmth in her chest. 

* * *

“Alright, just check out over there and you’re all set.” Clarke smiles as she props open the door to the waiting room, letting out Charlotte and her mother. 

Lexa perks up in her seat, eyeing Charlotte’s pink cast. 

She looks very relaxed and even happy, now, and Lexa assumes Clarke worked her magic. 

“Char, what do we say to Dr. Griffin?” 

“Thank you!” Charlotte grins, youthful and full of missing teeth, and Lexa’s heart swells for some reason she can’t put her finger on. 

“My pleasure.” Clarke answers, beaming as she waves goodbye to the mother and her daughter. 

Lexa smiles in response when the mother mouths a “thank you” to Lexa for letting her go first, but her heart trips over itself when Clarke makes a “come hither” motion to Lexa with her fingers. 

Lexa’s a slave to Clarke’s whim as she rises up from her chair, coming to Clarke’s side. 

As soon as they’re on the other side of the door, in the safety of the currently empty hallway, Clarke pauses to simply smile at Lexa, in a way that leaves her breathless. 

“You didn’t have to do that.” Clarke tells her, and Lexa just shakes her head. 

“Who wouldn’t? I didn’t need it more than she did.” Lexa explains softly. “She was a baby, too.” 

Clarke smirks. “Note to self, Lexa has a soft spot for kids.” 

“And certain blonde doctors that forgive her for being a dumbass, earlier.” 

“I wouldn’t go  _ that _ far, you’re too hard on yourself. But yes, she certainly does forgive you.” Clarke drawls, staring at Lexa’s lips. 

Lexa’s breath catches in her throat. Was she…? 

_ Fucking kiss her, Lexa.  _

Lexa’s heart nearly stops. 

Clarke’s eyes slowly closed as she leaned in, taking a hesitant breath. 

It’s happening. 

In a hospital, of all places, but Lexa can’t bring herself to care. 

She closes her eyes, slowly finding her way towards Clarke’s lips. 

Only to be jolted by a hand on her shoulder, clapping it gently. 

Lexa startles, leaning back so quickly that she hits her head on the wall with a soft thud. 

Before she can regard Clarke with a surprised stare, she realizes that Clarke is equally as startled, and Lincoln is the cause. 

“Hey guys!” Lincoln’s enthusiastic as ever, clearly not privy to the moment he’d just interrupted. “I can’t believe you decided to come in, Lex. I was worried.” 

Clarke notices Lexa rubbing her head and mouths “Poor baby” and Lexa swears, she doesn’t feel any pain after that. 

Yes, it’s an incredibly lame reaction to an incredibly pedestrian pet name, but Lexa can't deny that she feels a certain way when Clarke calls her “baby” in any capacity. 

_ Jesus, Lexa, you’re so fucking whipped.  _

“I may have played hardball with her, just a bit.” Clarke chuckles. “But she passed my test.” 

Lincoln quirks a brow, a smirk on his features. “Oh, really?” 

“Mhmm.” Clarke hums, regarding Lexa with a stare that should be illegal. “I feel like she’s always pleasantly surprising me.” 

Lincoln grins, able to pick up on the attraction easily enough. “She’s special like that. Well, I won’t keep you two lovebirds apart any longer-” 

Clarke glances around worriedly, as does Lexa, but it’s clear that Lincoln’s the only employee around. 

“We’re not-” Before Lexa can protest, Lincoln turns, wagging his finger. 

“Not yet, but we’ve got time.” He calls over his shoulder, leaving Lexa blushing profusely and Clarke shaking her head. 

* * *

Lexa can’t stop thinking about the almost-kiss. 

Her heartbeat was like a jackhammer for the rest of the day (yes, Clarke noticed while she was running tests, and smiled to herself for hours after, too). 

Clarke had promised she’d bring the results by to Lexa’s the next day, to discuss them, and to make a plan going forward.

Which is why Lexa is running around the apartment, continuously checking the candles she’d lit, making sure the flowers she’d bought Clarke were still fresh, and that everything is going to plan. 

There’s not a lot of things that make Lexa feel this way- excited, anxious, and dare she say it...hopeful. 

Clarke is a rarity, like stumbling upon a beautiful flower in a decimated field where she was positive nothing else could possibly grow. 

During the tests, she’d been nothing but supportive, opting to distract Lexa with chit chat while she did her work. 

Lexa learned a few very valuable things from that talk. 

Clarke’s mother, Abby, is a surgeon. Not at the same hospital, but it still makes Lexa awe at the prowess of Clarke’s family. 

Clarke’s father, unfortunately, passed away when she was a teenager. 

Clarke didn’t speak too much of him, but Lexa could feel her pain. She wanted to detach those stupid electrodes and hug her. 

Of course, she remained still for the examination that she’d waited so long to receive. 

Lexa had owned up to some of her very closeted family matters, mostly about how her parents weren’t in the picture, and how Indra was the closest thing she had to a guardian. 

Barely broaching the subject, it was enough for Clarke to understand some of Lexa’s trepidations and fears. 

She certainly hadn’t had it easy. 

A knock on the door startles Lexa from her musings. With a last glance at herself in her phone’s screen, she sets it down and hurries to open the door. 

Clarke’s smile is contagious from the moment Lexa sees it. She’s changed from her usual outfit of scrubs and a lab coat, looking like a million bucks in just jeans and a shirt. 

Lexa can’t remember the last time she had to try so hard not to stare. 

“Hey, you.” Clarke pokes her in the chest with the tip of a manila folder. “Look what I have.” 

Lexa smiles, stepping aside to let her in. “All good news, I hope?” 

“Well, I hope you have champagne, because…” Clarke drawls. “I don’t see any issues. We can move ahead with the surgery.” 

Lexa grimaces and tries to smile at the same time and the result makes Clarke laugh. 

“I have wine.” Lexa offers instead, and Clarke gives her a thumbs up, making herself at home on the couch. 

Lexa takes a moment, her back turned to Clarke as she uncorks a bottle of wine, and pours out two glasses. 

She tries not to get too attached to the idea of Clarke coming home from work, plopping herself down on her couch. 

Since when did she get so...domestic? 

Turning around, Lexa sets the glasses before Clarke and herself, and takes a seat, leaving a healthy amount of room between them. 

The last thing she wants is for Clarke to think she’s trying to insinuate something. 

“Candles?” Clarke quirks a brow. 

Lexa reddens. “Oh, I’m stupid, I just wanted the apartment to smell nice-” 

Clarke takes a sip of her wine, eyeing Lexa over the rim of her glass. “So you  _ didn’t  _ put them out to make the mood more...romantic?” 

Lexa scoffs, choking on her wine. “...I…” 

“Relax.” Clarke chuckles, a throaty laugh that makes Lexa weak in the knees. “I’m just teasing you. It’s kind of fun to see you all tense.” 

“You’re evil.” Lexa counters with a huff. 

“I mean, you can’t blame a girl for asking, right?” Clarke shrugs nonchalantly. “I think it’s romantic, being wooed by a writer.” Clarke clasps her hands together dramatically, batting her lashes. 

Lexa snorts at that. “You haven’t  _ seen _ me woo.” 

Clarke’s look is one of piqued curiosity. “Is that so, Woods?” 

“Mhm. Poetry, candles, rose petals, the whole nine yards.” Lexa teases back, feeding off the infectious, bright energy Clarke gives off. 

Clarke licks her lips, and Lexa’s brain gets a little foggy. 

“Better get under the knife soon then, because you’re making me impatient.” 

Lexa mumbles the next words into her glass, but Clarke hears them anyway. “If that’s not incentive, I don’t know what is.” 

Clarke’s cheeks redden a bit, and she leans back, angling her body towards Lexa as she lazes on the couch. Lexa watches her, sitting back as well, resting her chin atop her knees as she hugs them. 

“You were really good with Charlotte, back at the hospital. I don’t know if I told you that.” Lexa tells her, her voice softer than usual. 

Clarke smiles at the memory. “I like kids.” 

“You were great with all your patients, really.” 

“I like helping people.” 

Lexa eyes Clarke, nodding slowly. “I can tell.” She gestures to herself, and the test results on the coffee table before them. 

Clarke waves her off. “If you think I’m at your apartment right now solely because I want to help you, you’re wrong, and I’m a  _ lot  _ more selfish than you think.” 

Lexa smiles, hands up in surrender. “Fair enough. What’s in it for you, then?” 

Clarke looks thoughtful. “You.” She explains for a moment, and then shrugs. “I don’t know. Lincoln always talked about you, and I didn’t think you would be so…” She gestures aimlessly for a moment, before blowing out a breath. “I’ve never had a crush on a patient.” She scowled. 

Lexa couldn’t bury her pleased grin fast enough in her wine, and Clarke saw it, rolling her eyes. 

“Live it up, Woods.” Clarke drawled. “I’m the one who’ll be stitching you back together.” 

_ You already have.  _

Maybe it’s the wine she keeps forcing herself to drink to hide her smiles, but something makes Lexa blurt out, “Do you like documentaries?” 

Clarke blinks owlishly, as if stunned by the random comment. 

“Uh, what?” 

“Nevermind.” Lexa quickly backtracks, her face flushing. “I-” 

“I love a good doc.” 

_ I think I do, too.  _

“Really?” Lexa asks carefully this time, more guarded. 

If only she knew that Clarke just wants to grab her and plant a kiss on her every time she has a little “nerd moment” like that. 

“Mhmm. I love coming home after work and just flipping through shows, and eventually settling on a documentary. Have you seen  _ Somm?” _

Lexa’s eyes widen at the question. “The wine documentary?” 

“I saw that last night!” Clarke enthuses, and Lexa falls a bit more for her with every word. 

“I would say you’re a woman after my own heart, but we already knew that.” Lexa drawls. 

“And she makes puns, too!” Clarke speaks to no one in particular, shaking her head. “I’m amazed someone hasn’t snatched you up and U-Hauled you away yet.” 

Lexa freezes, just for a second, but it’s enough for Clarke to pick up on her hesitance. 

“I’m sorry, did I say something?” Clarke backtracks. “I didn’t mean-” 

“No, it’s okay.” Lexa quickly tries to correct herself, remembering her talk with Lincoln. 

She has to move forward, never backward.

“I was in a serious relationship, not too long ago.” Lexa explains softly. Her eyes go dark, and Clarke leans forward just a bit, intrigued. “I thought we were perfect, but I was wrong. I don’t have a soulmate mark. She did. That was enough for her to justify throwing it all away, I suppose.” Lexa sounds bitter, polishing off her glass as she sets it back on the table. 

There’s a moment of silence, before Clarke finally offers her thoughts on the matter. 

“I hope you can forgive me for saying this, but that actually might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” Clarke begins. 

Lexa scowls, ready to defend herself, but Clarke puts her hands up quickly in a gesture of surrender. 

“No, not your breakup! Sorry, god, I’m good at fixing broken bones, but I can’t communicate for the life of me.” Clarke rambles, and Lexa eases up, realizing that was not at all what she meant. “I just mean...for someone to let  _ you _ slip through their fingers for  _ this  _ bullshit…” She glances at the tip of her pointer finger, still marked black like ink. “That’s a tragedy.” 

Lexa’s chest fills with warmth, and suddenly the wine, the candles, the company, it just feels  _ good _ . 

“Do you…” Lexa begins shyly. “Do you maybe want to watch something together, now? If you don’t have anywhere to be-” 

“I don’t, and frankly, I would cancel my plans in a heartbeat for this.” Clarke gushes, and Lexa grins. 

“Great. Is popcorn on the heart healthy menu, or am I not allowed to eat that?” 

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Mock me all you want, but as long as you don’t drench it in butter, I’m gonna let you have this one.” 

Lexa chuckles, and Clarke is drawn to the sound like a hapless sailor to a siren’s call. 

“Make yourself comfortable, and I’ll get it started.” 

Lexa doesn’t realize how much time passes, while she and Clarke practically lay beside each other, separated by pillows and some couch cushions, giggling and refilling their wine glasses, making odd comments here and there. 

In fact, when Lexa finally manages to crack an eye open, she realizes that Clarke is sleeping against her side, barricaded by a pillow, her blonde hair splayed about. 

She looks too peaceful to be disturbed, and frankly, Lexa would suffer all the neck cramps in the world if it means she could allow Clarke a peaceful sleep. 

Besides, with the amount they had to drink, it was getting pretty obvious that Clarke wasn’t about to go anywhere. 

And so, for the first time since Costia, Lexa fell asleep with a smile on her face, and warmth in her heart. 

  
  
  



	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel so sorry for anyone who was looking for even a shred of medical accuracy in this...

Life is not a story. 

Life is not a fairytale, where the virtuous are rewarded, and the evils are vanquished. 

It’s not a romance novel, where each chapter is building to the most divine sort of climax, where two lovers embrace at last. 

Life is not carefully crafted by some odd soul in a seat somewhere, pushing up their glasses, clacking away at a keyboard, staring at font illuminated on a screen. 

Life is without structure, without resolution, without payoff and progress. 

It’s devoid of the essential factors that make storytelling fantastic. 

It is completely and _utterly_ out of Lexa’s control. 

When the words on the page of life don’t make sense, there’s no deleting what’s been said, or going back to rephrase. There is no editing and rearranging of one’s memories, of what’s important and meaningful to them, no eradication of the most painful scenes one has lived through.

Life is not a story, and it is not art. 

Or so Lexa thought.

Ironically, though, Lexa’s learning that she’s had it all wrong. 

She may not necessarily begin the book, or end it, but she’s been given the gift of simply being. Of having a chance to leave her mark on the page, within her control or not. 

To leave behind her story, perhaps not the way she’d imagined, when she was growing up, but it’s her story all the same. 

Truth be told, Lexa wasn’t sure there was going to be much left to her story. 

It seemed like the odds were eternally stacked against her. 

People came and left like there was a revolving door firmly implemented into her life. 

And worse yet, even _fate_ wouldn’t commit to her, like it did with just about everyone else. 

And then came Clarke. 

And still, to Lexa, it’s not just some whimsical story of someone who came and “saved” her, because really, she’s more than capable of taking care of herself. 

She has, for some time now. 

More than that, however, it’s the _desire_ to...be. 

It’s a funny thing, having to change everything one believes in, so late in the game. 

If there’s one feeling in the world Lexa detests, it’s the feeling of realizing that she’s wrong. 

Having to look back at her jaded self, remembering all she’d told herself about love, thinking that it could _never_ be for her- she practically trained herself for it. 

It’s all a bit ironic- the lengths Lexa would go to self-deprecate herself so someone couldn’t come along and break her heart again. 

But now, Lexa can safely say, being wrong never tasted so damn sweet. 

* * *

Lexa’s out cold, anesthesia with its vice-like grip around her consciousness, leaving her laying perfectly still. 

On cardiopulmonary bypass, her heart is eerily still. 

Machines hum, beep, whirr and make noises that almost drown out the voices of the surgical team, to the untrained ear. 

Under the bright lights of the surgical table, Dr. Wallace leans over Lexa’s open chest. 

Clarke doesn’t have time to think about the way Lexa would be gaping at herself (if she could somehow see this), likely covering her own shock with a wry comment that would gave Clarke smiling. 

Clarke doesn’t have the luxury of focusing on anything other than the heart in front of her, literally.

“Nice work, Griffin.” Dr. Wallace praises her as he watches her steady hand remove the tumor, placing it in the dish held out by another resident. “You can start closing her up.” 

It’s not high-flying praise, but Clarke knows better than to expect that from Dr. Wallace. 

If he’s not complaining, and she’s still leading the procedure by this stage, it means she’s done brilliantly.

So, naturally, something has to go catastrophically wrong. 

Of course, Clarke’s eye catches it instantly. 

Right underneath the tissue from which they’d dislodged the tumor. 

A dark, ink-like stain, right on Lexa’s very heart. 

The very first reaction Clarke experiences is panic. 

She’s gone and fucked up the procedure, rupturing _something_ , causing bleeding of some sort- 

She blinks a few times, trying to see it better. 

A mark, no larger than the tip of her finger, darkly contrasting with the muscle around it. 

Clarke glances down at her glove, her look of pure horror hidden by her mask. 

In this exact moment, Clarke realizes what’s happened. 

She has a split-second choice to make a decision. 

She can alert Dr. Wallace about the medical anomaly- the seemingly _internal_ development of Lexa’s mark- but that would leave Lexa subject to endless probing and questioning, as well as endangering their relationship. 

(There’s also the matter of Clarke’s “negligence” and failure to double-glove). 

Or, she can say nothing, close Lexa up, and give her some _very_ pressing news when she wakes up. 

It’s not much of a decision. 

The greatest challenge in all of this is keeping her mind focused and her hands steady as she begins to close Lexa back up, in utter disbelief at the sudden turn of events. 

* * *

“Dr. Griffin!” Lincoln jogs behind Clarke as she turns down the hallway, almost too quickly. “Clarke!” 

She’s wringing her hands nervously, a sight most unlike the Clarke Griffin everyone at the hospital knows and loves. 

Lincoln catches up, pulling her aside from the main flow of traffic as he takes in her expression. 

“So?” He breathes. 

Clarke smiles nervously. “Everything seems to be okay, we’re waiting on her to come to.”

Clarke nods her head back to the row of patient rooms, and Lincoln just now realizes why she’s pacing outside nervously. 

“Did Wallace give you the honors?” Lincoln asks wryly, patting Clarke on the shoulder in a supportive gesture. 

Clarke’s eyes widen slightly. “He did…” She begins. “He actually let me take over and close out the entire surgery.” Clarke explains carefully, rubbing her neck. 

Lincoln laughs a little awkwardly, unsure of what to think from all of Clarke’s conflicting body language. 

“Clarke?” Lincoln tries gently. “What’s wrong?” 

Clarke schools her expression, biting her lip to keep from smiling. 

She wants to scream it out, and she _can’t_ , not yet anyway, but- 

“You aren’t going to _believe_ this.” Clarke gushes. 

Lincoln looks like he’s going to be sick from all the anticipation. “Clarke…” He drawls. 

“When I removed Lexa’s tumor, there was an….anomaly.” Clarke explains, choosing her words carefully. “I...removed it, but there was still a...stain. A mark, on Lexa’s heart tissue.” 

Lincoln is frowning, hands shooting to his head. He gasps, clearly distraught. “Shit, what do you mean? Did Wallace see it? What did he say?” 

“No.” Clarke confesses, pulling Lincoln close as she glances around and then whispers the next words like they’re the most valuable ones he’ll hear in his lifetime. “It’s her mark, Lincoln. Lexa developed her mark.” 

Lincoln just blinks a few times, staring at Clarke as if she’s sprouted another head. 

“What?” He manages, finally. “You...did you…” 

“My glove.” Clarke croaks.

“Your...you...what…” Lincoln is trying to make sense of it all, but, like Clarke, he’s a little preoccupied with the details. “Is she okay?” 

“No infection.” Clarke confirms quickly, realizing Lincoln had the same fears she did, initially. “I didn’t know!” Clarke all but wails, covering her face with her hands. “I didn’t even know what was happening! I was just about to close her up, and I was touching her, and I just saw something funny. It took me a second to realize what had happened but, there it was, clear as day...right on her heart.” 

“Oh my _god_.” Lincoln breathes out, shaking his head. “That sounds….” 

“Like a story?” Clarke mumbles. “I know. I’m not entirely sure if _I_ caused this, or-” 

“Clarke. She developed her soulmate mark on her heart. Literally. What more of a sign do you need?” Lincoln grins for the first time since Clarke broke the news, and instantly, she feels uplifted. 

“I want to see her.” Clarke admits softly. 

“Oh, I’ll bet she’s dreaming of you right now.” Lincoln teases, and Clarke’s gaze drifts back to the room. 

* * *

Lexa hears soft voices as she blinks, or tries to, her eyes heavy and seemingly glued shut. 

After a few attempts, she’s rewarded with the sight of Clarke, approaching her as a nurse leaves the room, telling her that “Dr. Wallace will be in shortly”. 

Clarke seems skilled at this, going straight for the water by Lexa’s bedside, pouring her a glass as Lexa gains her bearings. 

Lexa tries to speak, and it comes out as a pitiful croak. Glancing down, her eyes shoot to where her chest is stitched up and covered in bandage. 

“Hey.” Clarke coos softly, handing her the water. “This first.” 

Lexa gratefully accepts the cup and downs the water eagerly, letting it soothe her dry throat. 

She doesn’t miss the way Clarke loving runs a hand through her hair as she sets the water aside. The movement is so small, not to be noticed by anyone but Lexa, who finds herself leaning into the touch without thinking. 

“...What’s the verdict, doc?” Lexa finally cracks a joke, and a smile, and Clarke has to fight away the tears that threaten to blur her vision. 

“Your tumor was successfully removed, and you are expected to make a full recovery shortly.” Clarke tells her proudly, and Lexa smiles, the words giving her goosebumps. 

Clarke Griffin did it. 

She was going to be okay, because of Clarke. 

Clarke sits at Lexa’s bedside, just barely resting on the bed as she does so. 

Taking Lexa’s hand in hers, she glances around carefully, one more time. 

“We don’t have a lot of time. Dr. Wallace is coming to check on you and tell you what...happened.” Clarke explains softly, keeping her voice low. 

“What happened?” Lexa echoes, curious now as she furrows her brow. 

“I…” Clarke begins slowly, unsure of how else to put it. “May have made a slight mistake.” 

Lexa uses all her energy to squeeze Clarke’s hand reassuringly. “Did you forget to put my heart back in?” She tries, but Clarke doesn’t smile, or laugh. 

Instead, she grimaces. “Lexa, I’m really sorry. My...there was a small hole in my glove. After I removed the tumor, I made contact...with your heart. For maybe a split second. I...I didn’t even notice. I was so occupied moving the tumor, I didn’t even notice it until it was there, I-” 

“Notice what?” Lexa tries very hard to decipher Clarke’s jumbled confessions. 

“You had...have, I should say...a dark stain-like mark on your heart tissue, behind where the tumor was.” Clarke admits softly, biting her lip once more. 

She doesn’t know how Lexa’s going to take the news. 

Lexa blinks, her expression unreadable. 

She takes a deep breath, her lip threatening to quiver. 

“Am...I dying?” Lexa asks finally, glancing up at Clarke with a look of pure sadness.

Just when she’d found someone worth staying for, worth trying for-

Wait. 

Is Clarke _laughing_ at her? 

Lexa blinks, but sure enough, the blonde is laughing softly, her shoulders shaking as she shakes her head. 

She leans forward, holding out her pointer finger to Lexa. 

Lexa furrows her brows, glancing at it, eyes falling to the black stain on the tip. 

She tells herself she’s over it, and Clarke is too, but on some level- seeing Clarke’s mark breaks Lexa’s heart, still. 

An eternal reminder that Clarke could have, and deserves, better. 

Clarke can see Lexa isn’t following- and she doesn’t blame her. She just woke up from heart surgery, and more than that- this is the _last_ miracle she’d ever expect to happen. 

“Lexa.” Clarke clears her throat, and Lexa meets her gaze. 

Clarke slowly presses her finger to Lexa’s heart, right over her gown, in an area that she knows won’t be tender. 

Lexa’s eyes trace Clarke’s finger tip, down to her heart, and something _clicks_ inside her. 

She glances up, jaw agape, eyes wide, and all she can do is struggle to breathe. 

It’s almost as if she doesn’t want to accept it. 

She can’t allow herself to believe it, even for a moment, because _that_ kind of heartbreak is the kind she doesn’t think she can ever bounce back from. 

But Clarke says it. 

She says words Lexa never thought she would hear in a million words. 

“I touched you on your heart, Lexa, with my fingertip.” Clarke says it as plainly as she can. “You have a soulmate mark on your heart.” She finishes, unable to fight off her smiles. 

Lexa can’t breathe. 

Shaking her head, she stumbles to find words, gripping Clarke’s hand like a lifeline. 

“You...I….are you serious?” Lexa tries. “Is that even possible?” 

“I saw it with my own eyes.” Clarke assures, eyes twinkling. “Lexa, I-” 

“Wait.” Lexa pauses, eyes narrowing slightly. “Is this... _true_? Or is this something you’re saying to-” 

“I _figured_ you were going to be jaded and shocked, so I sent for imaging. That’ll be up soon, so I can rub it in your face.” Clarke tuts, and Lexa’s eyes widen. 

She swallows the lump in her throat, her gaze falling to Clarke’s finger. 

It’s only just hitting her. 

She’s processing the words as fast as she can, coming out of her drug induced haze. 

“Are you serious?” Lexa asks, her voice breaking slightly at the end, her lip quivering now, and all Clarke can think about is leaning forward and catching it between her own. 

“Yes.” Clarke whispers, leaning forward. “Lexa Woods, you and I are soulmates.” 

Lexa doesn’t know how to react. In one moment Clarke’s speaking, and in the next, her vision is blurry with hot tears, and she’s smiling and laughing all at once. 

She’s an utter mess, and her lifeline is Clarke’s comforting grip on her hand, the other resting on her thigh. 

“I really want to kiss those tears away, but I think I’m about _this_ close to losing my job here.” Clarke confides in her, and Lexa snorts a messy laugh that has Clarke swooning. 

Lexa is glowing, now. 

Those simple words, the news Clarke brought, they’ve changed everything. 

She’s not alone. 

She was never alone. 

Clarke has been hers, waiting for her patiently, this entire time. 

Every loss, every bad memory, every breakup- a stop on the way to this. 

Finally. 

Lexa realizes there isn’t a word in the english lexicon to describe the way she feels. 

And Lexa knows _many_ words. 

Her entire brain feels like it’s short-circuiting. 

So she chooses to focus on Clarke. 

Clarke’s wide blue eyes, the way her upper lip is pulled back into a smile, the faint laugh that bubbles in her throat as the news sinks in. 

“ _On_ my heart?” Lexa repeats, absolutely at a loss for words. 

And truly, Clarke can’t blame her. 

She has much to learn, and in a way, much to _unlearn._

For years, Lexa’s doubtlessly been drilling negativity into her mind, her psyche. If no one else would love her, how was she expected to love herself? 

Not that their current revelation changes anything, in Clarke’s eyes, either. 

Lexa is an outstanding human. A beautiful old soul with so many layers that Clarke wants to study, to understand, to cherish (if she’s being honest). 

Who she ends up with romantically changes absolutely none of that. 

Clarke knows Lexa’s worth. 

It’s the challenge of getting Lexa to realize it herself, that’s difficult. 

But Clarke loves a good challenge, and fuck it, she loves Lexa. 

She _loves_ Lexa. 

The realization doesn’t hit her like a ton of bricks, because she’s beginning to realize that she’s loved Lexa since she gave up her spot to that little girl in the waiting room. 

And before that, she was enamored with her. 

Lexa looks like she’s going to hyperventilate, so Clarke reaches out with her hand. 

Instantly, Lexa catches it with her own, looser grip, and Clarke gives it a squeeze. 

Somehow, in that simple gesture, Clarke is able to convey so much to Lexa without ever opening her mouth at all. 

It’s something like: _I love you, I know this a lot to take in, and I’m going to be right here with you for all of it._

Lexa doesn’t understand how they’re always able to do that- communicate with glances, little touches, signals that others would barely even notice. 

But now, she’s getting it. 

Maybe it’s a soulmate thing. 

* * *

Lexa is stupefied. 

She doesn’t quite hear everything that Dr. Wallace tells her, but from what she gathers, it’s good news. 

Clarke stands behind him, arms folded professionally, as she listens to him brief Lexa. 

Her eyes keep wandering to Clarke, and if it wasn’t obvious before, it’s a dead giveaway now. 

But Lexa can’t help it. 

Just weeks ago, she was beginning to think that, maybe, her time was up. 

Not only that, but she didn’t think she had a life worth living.

Just a glance from two wide blue eyes across the room, and she can’t breathe anymore. 

Dr. Wallace grips her arm in some sort of awkward farewell, and then he exits as quickly as he came, whisking away his residents with him. 

Lincoln slides in past Clarke as she exits, wearing a shit-eating grin that just screams “I told you so” (but in the most _sincere_ way possible). 

Lexa’s happy he told her so. 

She’s happy she has a friend like Lincoln, who never allowed her to suffer through her darkest times alone. 

She’s happy she has Clarke, and not just because of the stupid mark, the tradition, or any of that. 

There’s one thought constantly echoing in Lexa’s mind, giving her all the strength she needs, and then some. 

_She loved you before this._

_She doesn’t love you because of this._

_You could wake up tomorrow, all of this could be a dream, and Clarke Griffin will still be there, a mess of blonde hair splayed out on your bed._

Lexa’s not entirely sure she’s _allowed_ to be thinking such thoughts just yet. 

Not that there’s anything wrong with it, it’s just- 

“Your heart rate is spiking.” Lincoln mumbled amusedly, as Clarke’s shuffling out of the room with the other residents, hiding a smirk of pure satisfaction. 

Lexa, for the billionth time in Clarke’s presence, curses the fact that her heart rate is loudly echoed on the gargantuan machine beside the bed, not missing her smile as the door closes behind her. 

As soon as it does, Lincoln is ecstatic, unbound by the presence of the others. 

“So, not only do you walk out of this surgery with a perfectly healed heart, you also get a soulmate, and a damn good love story to turn into a novel?” Lincoln thinks aloud, his grin forming as he reveals his thoughts. 

Lexa, to her credit, is grinning just as stupidly, taking in his words. 

Well, when he puts it like that…

Fuck, she really won the lottery, didn’t she? 

Her heart is one thing (and she’s endlessly grateful for the lack of complications), but _Clarke fucking Griffin_? 

Lexa’s numb as she just nods her head, unsure of how to respond. 

Lincoln doesn’t seem to blame her, shaking his head. 

“Her finger tip…” He murmurs, and then laughs, his shoulder shaking. 

Lexa leans back, her head hitting the pillow with a reassuring thud. 

This is real life. 

This is actually happening. 

It can’t possibly have turned out any better than this. 

Lexa’s peaked, in happiness. 

She always thought it was a crock of shit, the whole “you’ll feel it in your bones” spiel. 

Really, nothing bothers her more than the cliche author’s description of love. 

The fireworks going off, the electric thrumming throughout the body, the tingly feeling on the lips. 

It sounds fabricated, something a fool would say. 

She _finally_ gets it. 

Love has made her a better author, more aware of herself, and a complete and utter _fool._

* * *

Recovery is a _lot_ better than Lexa expects it to be. 

For starters, Clarke has made an (unofficial) home in her apartment. 

It entertains Lexa, watching her shuffle in and out of the apartment, always bringing a new addition with her. 

First, it’s little things. 

On the first day, after Lexa is returned home for bed rest, Clarke returns later in the evening with just a small overnight bag, some essentials, and _flowers_ for Lexa. 

(Lexa tears up and pretends it’s allergies). 

(Lexa does not have any allergies). 

The first night isn’t awkward at all, and Lexa knows better than to credit it to the stupid soulmate mark. 

But she’ll admit, she can’t stop staring at it. 

After Clarke’s changed into her pajamas- (a _loose_ shirt that says “five more minutes” and short shorts that make Lexa wheeze)- she climbs onto the bed where Lexa’s been “reading” for the past half-hour. 

Immediately, Lexa’s heart kicks into full gear. 

Thinking about it now, she’s realized that she and Clarke have never gotten a moment alone together, after the discovery of her soulmate mark. 

And if the other times were filled with sexual tension, this was something else entirely. 

Clarke’s hair is pulled back into a messy bun, and Lexa can really focus on the way the soft light of her bedside lamp glows against Clarke’s face. 

She looks like an angel, and that’s exactly what she is. 

“What’re you reading?” Clarke asks softly, the husky tone of her voice not at all wasted on Lexa, who basks in every syllable as if it is a symphony. 

Lexa doesn’t hear her question. 

Instead, her eyes fall to Clarke’s finger, pointing to the book in her hands. 

She does the only thing she can think to do. 

Reaching forward, Lexa takes Clarke’s hand in her own. 

(Clarke’s little gasp reaffirms Lexa’s belief that they’ve both been _dying_ to touch each other, to feel one another). 

Lexa takes Clarke’s finger, and presses a soft, loving kiss to the tip, right where Clarke touched her heart. 

With a careful glance, she finds Clarke’s eyes, twinkling with adoration as Lexa slowly lowers her hand. 

“I’m in love with you.” Lexa confesses, gently, as if there was still some way that Clarke wasn’t aware of this. “I...Klark. I know I’m supposed to be a writer, but I don’t think there’s _any_ way I can tell you how I feel. And trust me, I’ve thought about this a _lot_. I-” 

And even though Clarke is _very_ aware, it doesn’t change the delight that crosses her features, the way she softens, opening up to Lexa completely, cutting off her rambling.

“I’m in love with _you_.” Clarke tells her, reaching forward to caress Lexa’s cheek. “But I think we both knew that anyway.” 

In an instant, Lexa’s pressing slightly into her touch, and Clarke is a goner. 

“It’s...too bad a certain doctor gave me _strict_ bed rest orders.” Lexa muses aloud, and suddenly Clarke’s laughing, shaking her head at Lexa’s humor. 

“Well, maybe a certain doctor doesn’t want your heart to give out during your first round of Earth-shattering sex.” Clarke retorts, snorting a laugh when Lexa makes a motion to grab at her heart. 

Lexa’s blushing, and her reaction alone is enough for Clarke. 

“She can take it slow…” Lexa mumbles, unable to keep her facade going for long when Clarke’s laugh reaches her ears. 

“Do you know how long we have?” Clarke leans her head against Lexa’s shoulder, feeling the girl relax under her touch instantly. “I’m restricting you for a week so you can keep me happy for the rest of our lives.” Clarke’s humor makes Lexa smile so hard, she has to duck her head for a moment. 

It’s a peaceful moment between the two, as they mold together comfortably, Clarke mindful of Lexa’s injury as she maneuvers her arm around her still. 

They fall into the perfect position, warm and pressed together under the blankets, breathing in each other’s scent, reveling in the sweet feeling of sleeping beside each other. 

Lexa has never felt safer. 

There’s something about Clarke, some beautiful sort of relief she’s able to give Lexa. 

When Lexa is with her, her mind is at ease. 

She wants for nothing, is aware of nothing but Clarke, her heartbeat, her scent, her soft voice and shy whispers. 

She doesn’t know how long it takes for her to fall asleep- with Clarke, it’s like that. 

One moment they’re awake, the next, they’re in each other’s dreams. 

And that’s not even the best part. 

There’s something about waking up beside Clarke, every morning. 

Something about the way her hair is _everywhere_ , the way her breathing is soft and steady, the way she sneaks her hands up and under Lexa’s shirt to rest on her warm abs and simply _feel_ her. 

Lexa’s profession is crafting and utilizing words, and Lexa cannot for the life of her, begin to verbalize how Clarke Griffin makes her feel. 

Yet another way she knows it’s real. 

* * *

It starts small, but Lexa notices the new additions, even if she doesn’t say anything. 

Her daily routine involves waking up and showering- and even if Clarke’s not there, there are about five new bottles in her shower, hair products galore. 

Lexa smiles stupidly throughout her whole shower.

Later in the morning, after a shake and a (toned down) workout, Lexa notices Clarke’s scribbles on the notepad by the fridge. 

“BUY MORE MILK” it reads, in chicken scratch.

Lexa runs her fingers over the messy lines of ink, carefully. 

Her soulmate is a doctor with absolutely atrocious handwriting, much unlike herself, the ever-neat and precise writer. 

Later, when she settles by her laptop to write, she notices a little candle in the corner of her desk that wasn’t there before. 

She isn’t sure when half of her apartment became occupied with Clarke’s stuff, but she’s not complaining. 

It feels more like a home now than it ever did, before Clarke. 

Lexa’s writings are frequent and of the highest quality, these days. 

For the first time in a long time, her soul is “excited” to write again.

Simply put, when nothing’s going right in one’s life, it can be taxing to constantly bury your own problems, instead delving into the lives and issues of characters that don’t exist. 

Lexa felt it, the sort of thick, suffocating cloud, hanging over her work, her creativity, her passion for the art of writing. 

She _felt_ it, but she hasn’t felt it since her surgery. 

The _sun_ lives in her apartment. 

By early evening, right when Lexa _used to_ begin writing, Lexa finds that she’s already done with her work for the day. 

It’s no longer a tumultuous process of drinking, writing, and waking up to shred the papers all over again. 

It’s a part of her routine, coming to her easily, without the assistance of three or four drinks. 

She can hear keys rattling, and then her apartment door is opening, and Clarke’s there, looking tired and _beautiful_ in her scrubs. 

“Honey, I’m home!” Clarke calls aloud, even though she’s walked right into the living room, where Lexa can see her quite clearly. 

“Hey, you.” Lexa rises from her seat on the couch, and instantly, Clarke’s releasing the tension of work, grasping Lexa and tightening her hold as she leans in.

Clarke’s kisses are a work of art. 

Lexa’s certain that she’ll never ever tire of them, no matter how long she lives. 

Clarke’s hands go to cup her cheeks, and suddenly she’s drawn in. 

They kiss slowly, languidly. 

A few breaths here, a few soft whines against each other’s lips, and they’ve properly greeted each other. 

Lexa leans back, lashes fluttering as she blinks away any leftover awe in her expression, dumbstruck by their kiss.

“Hey, baby.” Clarke rasps and it makes Lexa’s blush intensify, and her knees weaken, all at once. 

_Baby_. 

Clarke can get away with a great many things, not the least of which is calling Lexa pet names. 

Lexa was never one for “ _honey_ ” or “ _baby”_ or whatever else people came up with to designate their significant others. 

But, she was quickly learning, the rules don’t apply to Clarke. 

Lexa’s sure of that much. 

Clarke can have anything she wants from Lexa. 

Her heart and soul are already on the table, after all. 

And the care with which Clarke treats them...treats _her..._ it made her feel foolish to even have thought, for a single second, that love wasn’t worth trying for. 

* * *

They’re taking it slow. 

Until they aren’t. 

Lexa isn’t sure when the lines are crossed, or if there really were any lines at all. 

Her recovery is simple, and within a month, she’s back in perfect condition. 

There’s one night, in particular, that’s been on Lexa’s mind for a week, now. 

Tonight is date night. 

And if that isn’t cause to celebrate, Lexa doesn’t know what is. 

For the first time since her surgery, Lexa is fully back. She’s healthy, has no limitations, and more than that: she has a goal. 

She doesn’t really know what she and Clarke are. 

Girlfriends, yes. 

She’s dense, sometimes, but not _that_ dense. 

But what are they exactly? 

It’s hard to tell. 

Clarke has been staying every night. (Not only that, but they also haven’t slept with an inch of space between them, cuddled up so tightly that it would be weird _not_ to sleep like that every night). 

But, Lexa’s realizing, they’ve never even been on a full, proper date. 

She’s never taken her soulmate out on a date. 

The realization strikes Lexa one day as she’s writing. In fact, it stuns her so much, she has to stop immediately. With a quick glance at the clock, she makes a decision to bother Clarke on her lunch break. 

“Hey babe, what’s up?” Clarke’s voice fills the line, and Lexa’s heart is buoyed. 

“What are you doing this friday night?” Lexa all but stammers, cursing her nerves. 

(Yes, she has nerves. Yes, Clarke is already her soulmate, and yes, they’re together, but something about asking Clarke out has Lexa tongue tied already. It must be the love). 

Clarke laughs, and the sound makes Lexa’s heart beat erratically for a moment. 

“I don’t know, I haven’t really moved my stuff from your place...I guess I was thinking I would spend it with you...like usual. Why? Are you busy?” Clarke is suddenly backtracking, the last thing Lexa wants. 

“No!” Lexa answers, way too quickly. “It’s not about that- I...be at the apartment at seven. You can wear anything because you’re beautiful and of course, anything looks great on you, but I-” 

“Lexa.” Clarke’s amusement shines through the line. 

“...yes?”

“Are you trying to ask me out?” 

“...And failing, apparently.” 

Clarke’s smiling hard, and it’s a shame Lexa can’t see it, because it would take her breath away. 

“I would love to.”

“And Clarke?” 

“Yes?” 

“You don’t need to worry about moving your stuff. It’s _our_ place.” 

A moment of silence on the line, and Lexa realizes what she’s just absentmindedly said. 

“...Lexa?” 

“...yes?”

“Did you just give me figurative key to your apartment before our first date?” 

“Oh, god damn it.” 

“I will be at _our place_ at seven, and I’ll wear the dress you like.” Clarke informs her before bidding a quick farwell at the sign of her break ending.

Lexa is left on the phone, speechless, confused, and very, _very_ in love. 

* * *

Clarke gets to the apartment after work on friday with just an hour or so to get ready. 

Curiously, she finds that Lexa isn’t home. 

Wandering to the bedroom, she does, however, find a neatly scrawled note, and the whiff of Lexa’s perfume is in the air, making Clarke smile instantly. 

They haven’t had the chance to really be... _intimate_ , yet, because of Lexa’s health. 

And since she got the green light, Clarke had been working endless shifts at the hospital. 

And while Clarke is certain she was in love with Lexa and was content to live like this forever, the idea of she and Lexa making love is starting to gnaw at her more and more every day. 

The note reads: 

_Clarke,_

_I’ll be picking you up at seven, as promised. We’ve done most of this out of order (in large part due to my social ineptitude), but this, I’m getting right._

_Looking forward to our date._

_Love,_

_Lexa_

It’s already enough to make Clarke’s eyes sting as she runs her hand over the writing, taking in Lexa’s perfectly neat scrawl. 

She’s falling in love with every little aspect of her, and it’s beautiful. 

She _craves_ Lexa, in all honesty. 

Her smile, her laugh, her witty humor and soft spoken words. 

Costia, whoever she was, missed _everything_. 

Clarke thanks her every day for the gift that is Lexa, despite the pain she caused her. 

Soon enough, however, Clarke’s showered, and her mind is free of thoughts about Costia, Lexa’s past, or anything of the sort. 

Just Lexa, Lexa, Lexa. 

Their date. 

Lexa’s smile. 

All the usual thoughts that end up giving her butterflies in her stomach. 

She picks out a dress that she hopes Lexa will love, trying to envision Lexa’s reaction to it. She does her makeup meticulously, her heart hammering in her chest all the while. 

Lexa is a writer, and even as incredibly observant as she is, she fails to overlook her own nerves and anxiety.

If she ever looked up, she’d notice that Clarke is equally as smitten, equally as flustered and scared and _in love_ as she is. 

When Lexa knocks on her own door, at seven o’clock sharp, in a pretty dress and holding flowers, Clarke thinks she might actually pass out. 

Clarke said Lexa valued tradition when it came to her soulmate mark, well, this was on another level entirely. 

From bringing Clarke flowers to pecking her on the cheek, her entire delivery is traditional and downright romantic. 

Clarke can’t even remember a time where a date was actually as romantic as she thought it was going to be. 

With Lexa, she should’ve known better. 

“You look beautiful.” Lexa tells her softly, eyes appreciatively settling on Clarke’s own, as Clarke glances up at her over the flowers. 

“I’m about two seconds away from crying, just so you know.” Clarke blurts out, and suddenly, Lexa’s laughing, moving to dab at the tears forming in the corner of Clarke’s eyes. 

“I’m sorry.” Lexa whispers with a hint of a smile. “I thought _I_ was the emotional one.” 

“Who _wouldn’t_ be emotional right now, I mean…” Clarke gestures to Lexa, and suddenly, the two are blushing, sniffling fools. 

Lexa didn’t think she could ever have anything like this. 

The normalcy, the comfort, the reassurance of it all. 

Clarke sets the flowers down, and the two find themselves embracing, slowly wrapping themselves up in one another. 

“I thought we’re not supposed to kiss on the first date?” Lexa hums thoughtfully, but she’s leaning in anyway. 

Clarke smiles against her lips, closing her eyes and savoring the taste of Lexa’s honey lip-balm. 

Yeah. 

They’re a little past that. 

Clarke’s fingers carefully find their way to Lexa’s wavy locks, and the kiss deepens, the two seemingly unable to get enough of each other. 

It’s only when Clarke leans back, gasping for air, fully intending on dragging Lexa back to the bedroom that Lexa clears her throat and murmurs, “We have a reservation at eight.” 

That sends the two soulmates into fresh peals of laughter as they join hands, swinging them gently as they leave the apartment together, side by side. 

* * *

It’s the date to end all dates.

(In a good way). 

By this point, Lexa should probably expect all of the shitty romance novel cliches to come true. 

(Because they are).

Maybe she’s a little wine-drunk, and Clarke-drunk, but Lexa feels a warmth about her, as she sits across from Clarke in the tiny, dimly-lit restaurant. 

The voices of everyone around them comes in as a dull hum, the two intently focused on each other and little else. 

They’re holding hands across the table, and every once in a while, Clarke rubs her thumb over Lexa’s hand, just for the contact. 

They alternate between simply gazing into each other’s eyes lovingly, and learning more about each other. 

And yes, Lexa probably knows how stupid they look, like every other infatuated couple, saying nothing and smiling at each other every now and again. 

But now she knows why they do it anyway. 

It’s a strange dynamic Lexa’s never experienced before, in some sense. 

She’s never had a guarantee of any sort, she’s never had anything to hold onto. 

Now, with the knowledge that Clarke is her soulmate, she wonders if the expectations are different, too. 

Are they supposed to discuss their future together? 

Is it practically guaranteed that they’ll be married a few years down the road? 

Oh, holy shit, is she thinking about marriage on the first date? 

“Aaaand I lost her.” Clarke drawls over a sip of wine, squeezing Lexa’s hand. 

“Hmm?” Lexa’s answer doesn’t inspire much confidence in her. “Sorry...I…” 

“You were thinking about us.” Clarke ventures. It’s a safe bet, considering that Clarke is pretty much all Lexa ever thinks about, lately. 

Lexa nods, cheeks burning, giving her away. She hates how easily Clarke reads her.

(She loves it.) 

“I was...just thinking about this whole soulmate thing.” Lexa begins carefully. 

Clarke lifts a brow. “Deciding it’s not for you?” She’s mostly teasing, but Lexa can pick up on a sudden sense of insecurity, and she rushes to assuage it. 

“No!” Lexa hurries, hoping Clarke can’t feel her palm getting a little clammy. “I was just thinking about it because...well, I haven’t really ever given it much thought, before.” 

Clarke nods, encouraging Lexa to continue. 

“And I just…” Lexa takes a breath. She’s a writer, and she can _never_ seem to think of the right goddamn words when she’s with Clarke. “Are we...supposed to be discussing our future? Or...does that come later? God, I’m asking you questions like you’re the customer service representative of our relationship.” Lexa all but mumbles the last part, covering her face in embarrassment, unaware of Clarke’s megawatt smile on the other side of the table. 

By now, Lexa’s sure her cheeks are crimson red, and there’s no saving herself from this trainwreck. 

Clarke’s laughter is beautiful, and Lexa lets it soothe her as she tries to regain some composure. 

“Lex.” Clarke squeezes her hand, and Lexa uncovers her face, her heart beating wildly at Clarke’s use of the familiar nickname. “Two things. First, I really don’t think you get how adorable you are...I don’t think it’s embarrassing that you have questions, Lex. I am _happy_ to be your customer service rep.” Clarke teases, smirking at Lexa’s flinching reaction. 

“I can’t believe I fucking said that.” Lexa grumbles. “And the second thing?” 

Clarke leans forward a bit, eyes twinkling with mirth. “As amusing as it is, I don’t have the answers to those. I don’t think anyone does. Soulmate marks don’t necessarily account for compatibility.” Clarke shrugs helplessly. 

Lexa furrows her brow. “Then what _are_ they an indication of?” 

“An unbreakable bond and an intense connection.” Clarke replies instantly. “The rest is...hard work.” She glances at Lexa with a playful smile. “Somehow, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem for us.” 

* * *

The moonlit walk back to Lexa’s apartment is stunning. 

Neither of the women are cold, warmed by the electric spark that is set off as soon as they touch. 

Arm in arm, they ramble together slowly, talking of everything and nothing all at once. 

“I want to travel.” Clarke gushes, fueled by wine and adoration.

“Travel where?” Lexa asks, and though it sounds absent, it’s only because she’s thinking about how much she _never_ wanted to travel, just a little while ago. 

She didn’t want to see what the world had to offer, and she didn’t want to leave the familiar confines of her life at home. 

Part of it was being alone, she knew that. 

After all, who wanted to feel completely isolated and loveless in a foreign country when they could do it from the comfort of their home? 

And now, she was daydreaming of leaving without notice. Just a backpack, a journal, and Clarke. 

She was _excited_. 

The kind of joy she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in some time, and frankly, she missed it. 

She didn’t even know she was still capable of this kind of joy. 

“Everywhere! I’ve been in school for my entire life.” Clarke turns and dramatically grips the lapels of the coat Lexa’s wearing, walking backwards as they continue on the path, Lexa steadying her. 

She’s never seen the doctor this free, this joyous. 

It’s making her own heart ache in the best way possible. 

“I want to see Spain, France, Peru, Japan, and Italy, and...Tahiti! And Ireland, and-” 

“That’s a lot of countries.” Lexa murmurs amusedly, turning Clarke around to walk up the steps of her apartment building. 

“Do you like traveling?” Clarke asks. “You seem worldly enough.” She narrows her eyes, as if trying to guess. 

“I do now.” Lexa amends, and the answer is good enough for Clarke. 

She beams as Lexa opens the door to her (their) apartment, stopping just short of going inside. 

Clarke glances at her curiously, tilting her head to the side. 

“I would have offered to walk you back, but we kind of walked the whole way here.” Lexa sighs dramatically as her plans are partially thwarted. “Still, I’m pretty sure this is where I kiss you goodnight and leave politely.” 

“I see.” Clarke nods, all business. “And where will you go?” 

“I can...go down the hallway and wait a few minutes so it’ll feel real?” Lexa offers, and Clarke grins, pulling her in for a kiss. 

It’s a _lot_ nicer than the kiss Lexa was intending. 

(It’s more of a _third_ date kiss.) 

Clarke’s soft tug on Lexa’s bottom lip is rewarded with a whine, and Clarke’s hands find their way to Lexa’s dress straps, underneath her coat. They kiss passionately, but slowly and languidly, the sort of kisses that stir an insatiable fire within them. 

Lexa feels a heat coiling in her lower belly, the undeniable attraction she’s felt for Clarke since the beginning is boiling over now. 

Pulling away slightly, Clarke’s gaze shifts from Lexa’s kiss-swollen lips, to the quick rise and fall of her chest, to her frantic virid eyes, looking for something to hold onto. 

“I love you.” Clarke whispers, hoping that it will be enough. 

She soothes Lexa’s trembling lip with her own, and gazes into Lexa’s eyes with the most sincere look she can muster. 

It’s all about making Lexa feel safe, about showing her how much she cares. 

Lexa feels embarrassed, a familiar heat rising to her cheeks as she feels the beginnings of tears in her eyes. She blinks them away quickly, trying not to let them show, but one slides down the corner of her cheek, seen instantly by Clarke. 

Clarke gives her the softest of smiles, dabbing the tear away with a swipe of her thumb. Clarke takes a step backwards into the apartment, extending her hand out to Lexa. 

Lexa glances up at her reverently, as if, in that moment, Clarke is the single most beautiful thing she’s ever seen in her entire life.

(She is). 

Lexa takes Clarke’s hand and steps into the apartment, the door closing behind them. 

* * *

Life is a story.

Life can be a fairytale.

It can be romance novel, where each chapter is building to the most devine sort of climax, where two lovers embrace at last. 

Lexa’s life _is_ carefully crafted by some odd soul in a seat somewhere, pushing up her glasses, clacking away at a keyboard, staring at font illuminated on a screen. 

She’s learning more about her story every day. 

Lexa is lucky. 

She’s learned that she is indeed the author of her own story. 

No, it has not been the easiest to write. 

It has often left her frustrated and speechless, without the words or the tools to get her meaning across the page. 

But, as Lexa is learning, it is a story that gets sweeter the more it unfolds. 

She used to think it was a monstrous venture, to try to make something sweet out of something so bitter, so unforgiving. 

She didn’t think she possessed the talent necessary. 

She didn’t have the gift. 

Now she knows, as a wise soul told her, in fewer words: it’s less about a god given gift, and more about hard work. 

As in everything. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one has been very different from my other works (and incredibly loosely based more on my own experiences???) so if you made it this far, thank you for reading! And thank you for all the comments, encouragement, kudos, etc- it's much appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> You can visit clexa-hsau.tumblr.com for story updates, discussions, etc.


End file.
